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S  T  OKIES 


FRONTIER  ADYENTUEE 


SOUTH  AND  WEST. 


WILLIAM   T.   COGGESHALL, 
AUTHOR  or  "HOME  HITS  AND  HINTS,"  '•  POETS  Axn  POETRY  OF  THE  WEST,"  ETC.  ETC. 


NEW    YORK: 
FOLLETT,    FOSTER    AND    COMPANY. 

-      ,T.  BRADBURN  (SUCCESSOR  TO  M.  DOOLADT), 
49  "\VALKER  STREET. 

1863. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S63,  by 

WILLIAM  T.   COGGE3IULL, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  Ohio. 


DEDICATORY  LETTER. 


To  WILLIAM  D.  GALLAGHER  : 

When  I  went  to  Cincinnati,  in  the  Spring  of  1847, 
seeking  the  humblest  place  in  the  editorial  corps  of 
a  daily  newspaper,  indulging,  at  the  same  time,  slight 
hope  that,  one  clay,  I  might  see  my  name  over  articles 
in  literary  periodicals,  I  was  anxious  to  see  and  know 
yon,  because  I  had  been  informed  that,  holding  an 
humble  post  in  an  influential  journal,  you  had  risen 
to  the  chief  post,  and  had,  meantime,  added  wealth 
to  the  literary  store  of  the  West. 

Because,  when,  afterward,  I  was  a  worker  with 
you,  in  the  same  office,*  I  found,  contrary  to  what 
had  been  told  me,  that  you  were  a  friend  to  striving 
young  men ;  and  because  you  were  the  first  literary 
man  who  encouraged  me,  by  just  criticism  and  good 
advice,  to  write  something  more  pretending  than 
"  items,"  I  dedicate  to  you  this  volume  of  Tales  and 
Sketches,  designed  to  illustrate  frontier  life  and  char- 

*  Daily  Cincinnati  Gazette. 


iv  Dedicatory  Letter. 

acter — to  you,  who,  in  my  judgment,  have  written 
about,  and  for  the  West,  from  just  impulse,  with  just 
purpose — to  you,  who  have  made  no  small  sacrifice 
for — Ah,  me !  Western  Literature. 

However  justly  those  terrible  fellows,  the  critics, 
may  find  fault  with  my  unpretending  romances,  you 
will  have  charity  for  them,  because  you  know  they 
were  written  when  "local"  matters  of  fact  com 
manded  a  large  share  of  my  days  and  nights ;  and 
you  know,  too,  that  they  are  now  republished  from 
the  columns  of  the  newspapers  and  magazines  in 
which  they  first  appeared,  with  only  such  revision  as 
could  be  made  on  proof-sheets. 

Accept,  then,  this  frank  epistle,  and  its  intention, 
as  an  honest  acknowledgment  that,  if  there  be  any 
merit  in  this  volume,  it  was  developed  under  your 
encouragement. 

With  highest  regards, 

Your  indebted  friend, 

WILLIAM  T.  COGGESHALL. 

COLUMBUS,  OHIO,  ) 
May,  1860.      f 


CONTENTS. 


THE  EVERGLADE  HEROES — A  'Tale  of  Florida     .  1 

FLEET  FOOT — A  Legend  of  Kentucky     ....  89 

HUNTER  BIRTY;    OR,  THE  HALF-BREED  COLONY 

OF  ILLINOIS             113 

GOLDEN  BIRD  OF  MENOMINEE 211 

THE  COUNTERFEITERS  OF  THE  CUYAHOGA  —  A 

Buckeye  Romance     .          217 

THE  BRIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  SETTLEMENT    .     .     .  307 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


DESIGNED    BY    BILLINGS,    AND     ENQRAVED    BT    ANDREW. 


FRONTISPIECE  :  Death  of  Major  Bertram. 

Page 

ARREST  OF  BRIXTOX  BY  THE  OUTLAWS, 70 

FLEET  FOOT, 104 

HUNTER  BIRTT, 160 

THE  GOLDEX  BIRD  OF  THE  MEXOMIXEE, 216 

DISCOVERT  OF  THE  COUNTERFEITERS, 236 

TlCKEL  6HOT  AT  BT  THE  COUXTERFEITERS, 296 


The  Everglade  Heroes. 


A  TALE  OF  FLORIDA. 


CHAPTER   I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

AT  the  time  General  Jackson  was  Governor  of  Florida, 
soon  after  the  treaty  of  "  amity,  settlement  and  limits  "  had 
been  ratified  between  the  United  States  and  the  Spanish 
governments,  an  officer  of  the  American  army  was  on  his 
way  from  St.  Augustine  to  Pensacola,  with  a  large  sum  of 
money  in  his  charge,  which  was  to  be  placed  in  the  govern 
ment  coffers,  over  which  Jackson  had  superintendence. 

This  officer  had  arrived  within  one  day's  journey  of  his 
destination.  It  was  an  autumn  afternoon.  The  atmosphere 
of  that  southern  clime  was  laden  with  those  odors  which  the 
famed  trees  and  shrubs  of  West  Florida  exhale.  The  young 
man,  who  had  never  enjoyed  so  agreeable  a  treat  of  that 
character,  was  enchanted  with  the  beautiful  scenes  on  which 
his  eye  rested,  and  the  delicious  sweets  on  which  other 
senses  regaled. 

He  had  traveled  the  King's  road — at  that  time  the  only 
highway  in  Florida  which  deserved  the  title  of  road — from 
St.  Augustine  to  St.  Mary's  river,  and  there,  with  an  ac 
cession  to  his  escort,  had  taken  the  most  direct  trail  for 
Pensacola.  The  country  having  for  some  time  been  quiet, 

(3) 


4  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

the  company  traveled  -with  little  fear  of  molestation  from 
marauding  Indians  or  other  depredators. 

To  enjoy  fully  the  delights  which  air  and  scenery  afforded, 
the  officer  had  fallen  behind  his  escort,  and  in  the  distance 
gaining  a  view  of  a  wide-spread  lagoon,  he  diverged  from 
the  trail  to  contemplate  more  immediately  the  wild  fowl  that 
rested  on  its  waters,  the  grasses  that  waved  within  it.  and 
the  bright-colored  flowers  with  varied  hues  that  hung  in  fes 
toons  on  its  borders.  Endeavoring  to  find  his  path  back  to 
the  trail,  after  riding  a  few  miles,  he  entered  a  pine  barren, 
through  which  he  had  wound  but  a  short  time  when  it  be 
came  evident  to  him  that  he  had  missed  his  reckoning,  and 
would  be  unable  to  direct  his  course  towards  his  company. 

Night  was  fast  coming  on.  Already  the  last  rays  of  the 
sun,  setting  far  away  in  the  lagoon  that  the  officer  had  been 
viewing,  were  gilding  the  tops  of  the  tall  pines  beneath 
which  he  wandered ;  yet  he  had  no  fears  for  his  safety, 
knowing  that  his  men  would  encamp  and  wait  for  him.  He 
had  often  bivouaced  in  the  forest,  and,  determining  to  await 
the  coming  of  morn  to  find  the  trail,  he  prepared  to  spend 
the  night  among  the  pines.  Fastening  his  horse  to  a  limb 
where  he  could  conveniently  browse — for  there  was  nothing 
to  graze — he  took  from  his  back  the  portmanteau  contain 
ing  the  government  funds,  placed  it  upon  the  moss  grow 
ing  around  the  trunk  of  a  massive  pine,  then  gathering  an 
armful  of  brush,  struck  a  fire  and  prepared  for  repose. 

When  darkness  enveloped  the  forest,  he  lay  down  to  rest 
as  calmly  as  if  he  had  been  in  his  own  tent,  surrounded  by 
a  numerous  encampment.  As  he  slept,  the  silver  rays  of  a 
waning  moon  fell  tremblingly  through  the  pine  foliage  and 
revealed  his  form,  wrapped  in  a  hunter's  blanket,  stretched 
on  the  green  moss. 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  5 

Had  he  known  that  his  wanderings  were  that  day  fol 
lowed,  he  had  not  slept  so  sweetly ;  he  had  been  standing 
guard  over  his  treasure,  or  he  had  hid  himself  in  some 
bushy  glen  or  dale. 

A  few  days  previous,  the  "Everglade  Heroes"  had  heard 
of  his  passage  through  the  country,  had  ascertained  the 
amount  of  treasure  with  which  he  had  been  entrusted,  and 
they  had  determined  that  Jackson  should  never  possess  it,  if 
a  score  of  lives  was  the  forfeit.  The  captain  of  these 
"  Heroes,"  as  they  styled  themselves,  was  now  on  the  track 
of  the  officer.  He  was  acquainted  with  Florida  from  the 
keys  of  the  south-east  to  the  bogs  and  rivers  of  the  north 
west.  His  band  had  been  following  the  government  soldiers 
for  several  days,  and  had  a  number  of  times  meditated  an 
attack,  but  prudence  bid  them  be  cautious,  for  they  wished 
to  commit  the  robbery  without  letting  the  robbed  see  by 
whom  it  was  done.  They  had  been  watching  for  a  favor 
able  opportunity,  until  they  knew  that  another  day  would 
cut  off  their  chances  entirely,  and  the  captain  had  decided 
that  the  night  following  the  day  on  which  our  story  opens, 
should  be  the  time  of  attack,  at  all  hazard.  What  was  his 
gratification  when  he  sa\j  the  officer  fall  behind  his  company 
— then  diverge  from  the  trail !  Leaving  his  "  Heroes  "  to 
watch  the  escort,  the  captain  followed  the  officer. 

The  hour  had  come  when  the  captain's  schemes  were  to 
be  put  into  execution,  but  he  disdained  to  rob  and  murder  a 
sleeping  man.  Slipping  to  the  place  where  the  officer's 
steed  was  fastened,  he  cut  the  cord  that  made  him  a  pris 
oner,  and  with  a  yell  that  rung  among  the  pines,  started  the 
affrighted  animal  at  a  swift  gallop  through  the  forest.  The 
officer  was  awakened  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  expecting  that 


6  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

Indians  were  upon  him.  He  reached  for  his  trusty  rifle,  but 
it  had  been  removed ;  his  sword  was  at  his  side,  however, 
and  he  quickly  drew  it.  Before  him  appeared  a  man  of 
swarthy  hue,  dressed  in  the  Indian  fashion ;  but  he  was 
neither  Seminole  nor  Creek,  as  the  officer  expected. 

"  Lieutenant  Bertram,"  cried  the  outlaw,  "  I  discovered 
who  you  are  this  afternoon.  We  have  met,  as  I  have  long 
wished.  I  am  the  captain  of  the  "  Everglade  Heroes  " — the 
man  you  struck  twelve  years  ago,  for  calling  you  a  villain, 
when  he  was  orderly  sergeant  under  you.  His  Spanish 
passion  then  vowed  revenge.  He  has  since  gratified  it  by 
plundering  the  government  that  would  not  give  him  justice  ; 
and  he'll  now  satisfy  that  revenge  fully  with  your  life  and 
the  funds  you  have  with  you." 

To  this  defiant  speech  the  lieutenant  made  no  reply.  He 
was  a  brave  man  and  a  skillful  swordsman,  and,  determined 
to  die  valiantly,  he  rushed  upon  his  antagonist.  The  outlaw 
was  prepared  to  meet  him,  and  for  more  than  ten  minutes 
the  clashing  of  their  swords  rang  upon  the  night  air.  By 
his  desperation  and  skillful  swordsmanship  the  lieutenant 
was  making  the  result  of  the  contest  doubtful,  when  by  a 
skillful  movement,  the  outlaw  threjrv  him  off  his  guard  and 
ran  his  sword  through  his  body.  He  bent  over  him  as  he 
fell  to  see  that  it  was  a  fatal  wound  ;  then  tearing  open  his 
garments,  traced  two  letters  in  blood  on  his  breast,  and  mut 
tering  between  his  teeth,  "  You'll  insult  no  more  women" 
grasped  the  portmanteau  that  contained  the  treasure  and 
speedily  fled. 

Major  Bertram  (for,  though  the  outlaw  called  him  lieuten 
ant,  and  we  adopted  the  title,  he  was  major,  having  risen 
in  rank  during  the  twelve  years  to  which  his  murderer  re- 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  7 

ferred,)  survived  but  a  few  moments.  He  had  not  weltered 
in  his  blood  half  an  hour,  before  a  scout  from  his  company 
found  him.  He  had  bivouaced  within  a  mile  of  their  en 
campment,  and  though  every  means  had  been  taken  to  find 
him,  his  men  had  no  suspicion  that  he  was  near  them,  until 
his  horse  galloped  through  their  camp  a  few  minutes  after 
he  had  been  liberated  by  the  outlaw,  chance  or  the  instinct 
of  the  animal  having  led  him  to  this  rendezvous.  The 
guards  had  raised  the  cry  of  Indians ;  but  when  the  com 
pany  was  aroused,  and  it  was  found  to  be  their  major's  steed 
that  had  caused  the  alarm,  the  officer  in  command  dis 
patched  scouts  in  every  direction,  fearing  there  had  been 
robbery  and  murder.  This  officer  found  the  major's  body, 
and  was  startled  by  its  appearance.  He  was  a  wicked  man, 
and  he  exclaimed  furiously  : 

.  "  The  torments  of  hell  take  them  !     The  Everglade  He 
roes  have  done  this !     There  are  the  characters  traced  in 

» 
blood  on  the  poor  major's  breast.     The  devil  will  be  to  pay 

when  we  get  to  Pensacola." 

For  two  years  previous  to  the  date  of  this  chapter,  male 
dictions  of  this  kind  had  been  frequent  in  Florida.  The 
ominous  letters,  "  E.  H."  with  the  sign  of  a  cross,  had 
been  regarded  with  terror  by  many  who  had  been  robbed  in 
their  camps  and  cabins,  and  upon  more  than  a  hundred 
corpses  had  they  been  traced,  along  the  trails  which  trav 
ersed  the  wilds  of  the  peninsula.  They  were  a  watch-word 
of  terror  more  dreadful  than  the  title  of  the  bloodiest  Semi- 
nole.  It  was  not  known  whether  the  "  Heroes "  were 
Americans,  Spaniards  or  Indians,  but  they  were  supposed  to 
belong  to  a  secret  band  of  Spanish  banditti. 

When  the  scout  who  had  discovered  the  major  had  called 


8  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

a  couple  of  companions  to  his  aid,  a  litter  was  prepared, 
and  the  body  was  carried  to  the  trail  and  buried  in  a  spot 
which,  for  many  years,  was  marked  by  a  rude  stone.  Wild 
flowers  grew  on  his  grave,  and  birds  built  their  nests  in  the 
branches  that  hung  over  it ;  but  Major  Bertram,  though  a 
wicked  man,  had  been  a  valuable  officer,  and  he  was  not 
forgotten. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  following  the  occurrence  of 
these  events,  the  company  arrived  at  Pensacola  and  re 
ported  the  ill  success  of  their  expedition. 

A  liberal  reward  was  immediately  offered  for  the  arrest 
of  any  one  of  the  "Everglade  Heroes;"  and  the  high  of 
fense  of  murdering  a  major  in  the  United  States  Army,  and 
robbing  the  government  of  a  large  sum  of  money,  was  soon 
told  along  all  the  trails  between  Pensacola  bay  and  St. 
John's  river.  But  no  officer,  Indian  or  hunter,  was  able  to 
claim  the  handsome  reward.  The  murderer  was  secure  at 
the  retreat  of  his  "  Heroes,"  amid  an  extensive  everglade 
on  the  south-western  slope,  drained  by  the  Coloosatchee 
river. 

Upon  an  island,  approached  by  a  strip  of  hard  earth  on 
which  the  grass  grew  scantily,  three  men  had  for  several 
years  hidden  ill-gotten  treasure,  and  retreated  when  danger 
threatened  them.  They  were  all  of  Spanish  descent.  Their 
leader,  as  we  have  intimated,  had  been  a  soldier  in  the 
United  States  Army,  and  had  deserted.  He  was  a  bold 
and  desperate  man,  and  he  had  led  his  men  on  desperate 
expeditions  and  bold  exploits,  which  had  yielded  them  an 
immense  amount  of  booty.  They  carried  to  their  island  re 
treat  nothing  but  gold  and  silver  or  valuable  jewels,  and  they 
had  amassed  enough  to  make  three  large  fortunes.  Every 


The   Everglade   Heroes.  9 

possible  means  had  been  taken  to  ferret  out  their  hiding 
place  ;  but  they  understood  the  art  of  disguise — the  condition 
of  the  country  had  been  favorable  to  their  exploits,  and  though 
many  times  hotly  pursued,  they  had  eluded  all  search ;  and 
there  was  no  suspicion  of  the  true  situation  of  their  head 
quarters  among  any  of  the  people  of  the  peninsula. 

This  band  had  been  organized  for  two  years.  The  period 
of  the  wicked  copartnership  had  expired,  and,  having  be 
come  richer  than  they  anticipated,  they  were  about  to  sepa 
rate.  The  captain  had  already  calculated  the  division  of 
spoils,  and  they  assembled  to  apportion  the  shares,  before 
their  rude  cypress  hut  on  the  everglade  island,  with  the  tall 
grass  waving  about  them,  the  fragrant  wind  rippling  the 
waters  of  a  pond  on  which  swam  myriads  of  wild  fowl  amid 
blossoms  of  the  lily  and  lotus,  bathing  their  varied  plumage 
in  the  bright  sunshine  that  came  down  from  an  almost 
Italian-clear  sky.  The  chief  counted  out  to  each  man  the 
share  of  blood-stained  booty  which  had  been  accorded  him, 
and  then  the  "  Heroes "  threw  off  their  Indian  dresses, 
changed  in  many  respects  the  savage  appearance  they  bore, 
packed  their  horses,  and,  in  European  costume,  emerged 
from  their  everglade  haunt.  They  traveled  for  a  couple  of 
days  through  secret  paths,  then  boldly  struck  into  a  trail 
leading  towards  the  St.  John's  river,  and  pursued  their  way 
to  St.  Augustine,  determined,  as  their  conversation  seemed 
to  disclose,  to  separate  as  soon  as  they  arrived  at  the  city, 
give  up  their  wicked  course  of  life,  invest  their  money  in  the 
purchase  of  lauds,  and  become  agriculturists — in  name,  at 
least. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE  PATGOE  PARTY. 

TWELVE  years  have  elapsed  since  the  cession  of  Florida 
to  the  United  States. 

The  scene  of  our  history  now  lies  near  the  noble  river  St. 
Johns,  within  a  few  miles  of  St.  Augustine — the  oldest  city 
of  the  United  States. 

Embowered  in  a  grove  of  orange,  lime,  guava.  citron,  fig 
and  palm  trees,  to  which  extended  a  wide  avenue,  lined  on 
either  side  with  ancient  live  oaks,  and  ornamented  with 
bowers  of  roses,  were,  five  years  previous  to  the  opening  of 
the  Seminole  war,  the  ruins  of  an  English  mansion  that  had 
been  the  residence  of  a  gentleman  of  the  nobility,  during 
the  time  the  British  nation  considered  the  peninsula  among 
its  possessions. 

It  had  been  purchased  by  a  wealthy  Floridian,  who,  with 
out  heed  of  war,  rumors  of  war,  or  Indian  depredations, 
repaired  all  the  devastations  time  and  negligence  had  made, 
and  added  to  its  groves,  gardens  and  walks,  under  the 
direction  of  a  skillful  gardener,  such  improvements  as  had 
rendered  it  the  most  enchanting  residence  of  the  St.  John's 
district.  When  the  odorous  trees  were  in  blossom,  the  lux 
uriant  flowers  in  bloom,  or  the  tropical  fruits  had  ripened,  it 

(10) 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  11 

was  ii  palace  which  vied  in  delightful  associations  with  the 
famed  oriental  villas  that  have  been  the  "  burden  of  song 
and  verse  "  ever  since  Persian  descriptions  first  glowed  on 
the  pages  of  traveled  authors. 

The  owner  of  this  place  was  Cabot  Conere,  a  gentlemen 
whose  Spanish  ancestors  had  been  among  the  first  emigrants 
to  Florida.  lie  had  arrived  at  the  meridian  of  an  eventful 
life,  and,  while  the  country  about  him  was  in  commotion, 
was  settled  peacefully  with  his  family,  consisting  of  his  wife, 
and  a  daughter  verging  into  womanhood,  at  a  home  sur 
rounded  with  all  the  sources  of  ease  and  enjoyment  that 
wealth,  in  that  favorable  clime,  could  command. 

From  a  tributary  to  the  St.  John's  that  flowed  across  one 
portion  of  his  plantation,  a  number  of  small  streams  had 
been  led  meandering  among  shade  and  ornamental  trees, 
and  through  flowery  paths  and  fruit  walks — and  from  this 
circumstance,  with  the  approval  of  its  master,  the  mistress 
of  the  mansion  had  named  it  Rillwood. 

Conere  of  Rillwood  was  a  remarkable  personage.  He 
had  all  the  fire  and  impetuosity  of  a  Spaniard,  tempered 
with  the  cool,  calculating  judgment  of  the  plodding  English 
man.  He  was  tall  of  stature,  commanding  in  bearing,  and 
prepossessing  in  manner  ;  but  there  was  always  about  him 
an  air  of  reserve,  which  chilled  confidence,  and  his  most  in 
timate  associates  knew  nothing  of  his  history  previous  to  the 
period  when  he  made  Rillwood  his  home. 

His  mansion,  or  villa,  was  celebrated  the  country  round 
as  the  residence  of  the  most  daring  and  skillful  sportsman 
of  St.  Augustine  vicinage,  the  most  accomplished  woman  of 
north-cast  Florida,  and  the  loveliest  girl  that  had  visited  the 
gay  assemblages  of  the  ancient  city  for  many  years. 


12  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

Isabelle  Conere  was  a  Spanish  beauty,  with  the  vivacity 
and  energy  of  an  American  girl.  She  had  the  translucent 
olive  complexion,  the  full  dark  eye,  fringed  with  languishing 
lashes,  belonging  to  the  Castilian  blood,  with  the  lithe  limbs 
and  roundly  developed  muscles  that  are  the  heritage  of  the 
maiden  of  North  America,  who  loves  the  rough  gallop 
before  sunrise,  and  the  hill-chase  after  sunset,  better  than 
needle-work  or  sentimental  reading. 

Senora  Conere — as  her  husband  persisted  in  calling  her, 
although  she  was  a  Virginia  lady,  of  English  descent — was 
one  of  those  mild,  excellent  women,  who  are  ministers  of 
goodness  and  charity,  beloved  by  all  the  poverty-stricken 
and  sorrow-laden.  She  had  never  been  what  the  world 
would  call  beautiful ;  indeed,  at  the  period  when  we  com 
mence  her  history,  although  there  was  a  matronly  grace  of 
manner  about  her,  a  majority  of  persons,  whose  tastes  are 
formed  on  conventional  principles,  would  have  considered 
her  homely — and  homely  she  was,  in  the  true  sense  of  the 
term. 

Homely — what  an  abused  term,  taken  in  connection  with 
the  associations  clustering  around  the  first  syllable  !  Rich 
ardson  defines  it,  "  Pertaining  to  home ;  having  the  plain 
ness  and  simplicity  of  home;"  and  Milton  says  in  Comus : 

"It  is  for  homely  features  to  keep  at  home;          "» 
They  had  their  name  hence."  » 

The  most  cherished  pleasures  of  the  mistress  of  Rillwood 
sprang  from  the  enjoyments  of  her  own  home,  and  the  grat 
ification  of  laboring  to  make  other  homes  happy.  Her  pleas 
ing,  affectionate  manner  fitted  her  for  charitable  duties ;  and 
wherever  there  was  poverty  or  suffering,  she  was  the  angel 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  13 

of  mercy  and  hope  that  brought  relief  and  consolation. 
She  was  the  very  antipode  of  Conere.  What  a  contrast 
between  this  calm-natured,  fragile  woman  and  the  muscu 
lar,  strong-minded  Spaniard — a  summer  zephyr  contrasted 
with  the  northern  blast  of  midwinter ;  it  was  the  mating  of 
the  dove  with  the  eagle.  Yet  she  loved  him  truly,  and  he 
appeared  to  return  her  affection ;  but  his  was  that  love 
which  power  may  be  expected  to  bestow  upon  a  dependent 
idol.  , 

The  daughter  had  her  father's  wild  and  fitful  spirit,  with 
her  mother's  good-heartedness.  The  two  natures  were 
singularly  blended  in  Isabelle.  She  appeared  frank  and 
ingenuous ;  she  teas  independent ;  but  when  she  had  a 
purpose  to  gain,  she  was  crafty  and  secretive  ;  and  she  had 
often  wayward  moods,  over  which  her  mother  had  long 
ceased  to  attempt  a  control. 

It  is  an  evening  in  early  autumn.  Breathing  a  "  hushed 
and  charmed  air,"  an  atmosphere  redolent  with  the  fra 
grance  of  tropical  fruits  and  the  perfume  of  rare  flowers, 
upon  the  seat  of  an  arbor,  shaded  by  a  pomegranate  tree, 
and  overhung  with  clustering  vines,  Isabelle  Conere  reclined. 
She  awaits  a  trysting  hour,  when  she  expects  to  meet  one 
who  will  assist  her  to  persuade  her  father  to  come  home  on 
the  morrow — her  eighteenth  birth  day — which  is  to  be  com 
memorated  by  a  Patgoe  Party. 

She  is  becoming  impatient,  when  upon  her  attentive  ear 
falls  the  melody  of  a  familiar  tune,  sung  sweetly  in  low 
tones.  She  falls  in  with  the  singer  and  softly  follows  the 
tune  with  a  delicious  voice,  until  the  vocalist  has  approached 
within  a  few  steps,  then  springing  from  her  reclining  posi 
tion,  she  accosted  him : 


14  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

"  'Tis  past  the  hour,  and  if  something  had  not  detained 
father  at  the  city,  I  should  not  have  to  thank  you  for  aiding 
me  in  getting  his  consent  to  be  with  us  to-morrow." 

"  I  was  here  an  hour  since,  but  knew  your  father  had  not 
come,  and  failing  to  find  you,  I  wandered  to  the  orange 
grove,  and  there  I  met  Conere.  I  told  him  that  you  waited 
for  him.  His  brow  was  dark,  and  he  bid  me  tell  you  that 
he  could  not  see  you,  and  you  must  not  expect  him  at  the 
festivities  to-morrow.  Before  this  time  he  has  returned  to 
St.  Augustine." 

"  He  gave  you  no  explanation — no  other  message  ?  " 

"None." 

"  There  has  been  something  preying  on  his  mind  of  late. 
Does  mother  know  that  he  will  be  absent  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  believe  she  does  not." 

"  Let  me  seek  her." 

The  young  man  who  held  this  conversation  with  Isabelle 
Conere  was  a  native  of  trade-driving  Connecticut — a  scion 
of  Puritan  stock — attracted  to  this  southern  land  by  a  hand 
some  property  bequeathed  him  by  an  uncle,  who  had  been 
one  of  the  early  English  settlers  on  the  St.  John's  river. 

This  property  was  situated  within  half  a  mile  of  Rill- 
wood.  Ledyard  Brinton  had  lived  at  Windsor  (thus  named 
by  his  loyal  uncle)  nearly  four  years.  His  household  was 
tgoverned  by  a  widowed  aunt,  and  his  plantation  was  con 
trolled  by  a  Creole,  who  managed  it  in  a  manner  that 
yielded  profitable  returns  to  its  owner.  Brinton  had  "  south 
ern  policy"  enough  not  to  meddle  with  other  people's  busi 
ness,  and  he  made  no  enemies  among  his  neighbors,  by 
interfering  with  their  "peculiar  institutions."  He  had, 
probably,  not  made  Florida  his  permanent  home,  if  an  acci- 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  15 

dental  acquaintance  with  Isabelle  Conerc,  had  not  rendered 
the  country  one  of  peculiar  interest.  He  was  a  frequent 
visitor  at  Rillwood,  and,  seemingly,  a  favored  companion  of 
the  proprietor,  as  well  as  of  his  daughter. 

Conere  was  adverse  to  forming  intimate  associations,  and 
he  did  not  cultivate  Brinton's  acquaintance  without  an  object. 
On  the  night  in  which  they  met  in  the  orange  grove,  Conere 
had  applied  to  him  for  the  loan  of  a  large  sum  of  money. 
Brinton  was  unable  to  accommodate  him  at  the  hour,  but 
Conere  attributing  his  refusal  to  unwillingness,  abruptly  bid 
him  a  good  night,  telling  him  to  inform  Isabelle  that  he 
should  be  absent  on  the  morrow. 

The  mother  arid  daughter  were  not  surprised  at  the  de 
cision  brought  them,  for  latterly  Conere  had  made  them 
accustomed  to  sudden  departures,  and  many  times,  when  he 
returned  his  moods  were  in  no  wise  agreeable.  For  six 
months  he  had  been  sadly  in  trouble  about  his  pecuniary 
affairs.  He  had  engaged  in  numerous  speculations  —  the 
country  was  in  an  unsettled  state,  and  he  found  it  difficult 
to  "  keep  up  appearances "  that  would  deceive  his  friends 
and  the  acquaintances  of  his  family.  It  was  to  keep  from 
foreclosure,  mortgages  which  would  have  exposed  his  circum 
stances,  that  he  was  obliged  to  absent  himself  from  his 
daughter's  birth-day  festival.  She  was  grieved  at  his  ab 
sence,  because  she  loved  her  father  with  a  wild  love,  which 
she  had  reason  to  think  was  sincerely  returned  —  and  she 
had  given  herself  much  pleasure  in  calculating  upon  his 
enjoyment  in  the  festivities  that  would  commemorate  her 
majority. 

The  pleasures  of  the  day  were  to  spring  from  a  Patgoe 
party — and  what  is  a  Patgoe  party  ? 


16  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

It  was  a  festival  common  in  Florida  at  the  time  of  which 
we  write,  as  the  introduction  to  a  dance,  the  popular  amuse 
ment  of  the  Floridians.  A  wooden  bird,  fixed  upon  a  pole, 
was  carried  through  the  neighborhood.  Each  lady,  to  whom 
it  was  presented,  made  an  offering  of  a  piece  of  ribbon, 
choosing  the  color  and  style.  The  bird  is  soon  decked  in 
gaudy  style,  and  at  an  hour  appointed,  gallanted  by  their 
beaux,  bearing  their  rifles,  the  fair  patrons  of  the  Patgoe 
assemble  at  a  spot  selected.  The  bird  is  put  up  as  a  mark, 
and  the  sportsman  who  buries  the  first  ball  in  its  novel  plu 
mage  is  proclaimed  king  of  the  entertainment.  He  presents 
the  Patgoe  to  the  lady  of  his  choice,  and  she  is  crowned 
queen.  On  Isabelle  Conere's  birth  day,  Ledyard  Brinton 
was  the  fortunate  marksman,  and  she  was  chosen  his  royal 
consort. 

A  large  company  had  assembled  at  Rillwood.  Upon  the 
lawn,  in  front  of  the  mansion,  the  festivities  were  proceeding 
— here  a  dancing  party  —  there  a  bevy  of  waltzers  —  away, 
beneath  the  shade  of  an  orange  or  pomegranate  tree,  were 
lovers  engaged  in  "converse  sweet;"  and  all  was  joy  and 
hilarity,  befitting  the  occasion,  conducted,  as  it  was,  with 
regal  splendor  by  the  king  and  queen. 

As  the  shades  of  evening  began  to  gather,  a  horseman 
was  seen  urging  his  steed  at  a  swift  gallop  up  the  main 
avenue  towards  the  mansion.  Isabelle,  who  had  painful 
forebodings,  fled  precipitately  to  the  house.  When  she 
arrived  the  messenger  was  already  in  her  mother's  room,  and 
she  was  obliged  to  await  his  reappearance  in  the  hall,  which 
she  no  sooner  perceived  than  she  flew  to  him. 

"Is   father   harmed?     Where   is   he,  Benjamin?     You 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  17 

must  tell  me ! "  exclaimed  the  girl,  with  fearful  energy  and 
startling  wildness  of  manner. 

"He  is  at  St.  Augustine,  and  unharmed,"  answered  the 
man. 

"  Why  came  you  here  then  in  such  haste  ?" 

"To  get  papers  which  it  is  necessary  for  your  father  to 
have  immediately,  for  the  settlement  of  some  important 
business." 

"Will  he  be  home  to-day — answer  me  fairly?" 

"  I  will,  Isabelle,"  said  the  messenger,  trembling  as  she 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  "  Your  father  cannot  come 
home  to-day,  nor  perhaps  to-morrow  ;  but  by  that  time  I 
hope  all  his  difficulties  will  be  settled.  You  must  question 
me  no  farther,  for  I  am  forbidden  to  tell  you." 

"Then  mother  shall"  cried  the  excited  girl,  hastening  in 
quest  of  her  parent.  But  she  could  obtain  no  satisfactory 
information.  Her  mother  did  not  know  what  detained 
Conere  ;  but  from  the  character  of  the  documents  the  mes 
senger  had  demanded,  she  feared  that  he  had  fallen  into 
serious  trouble. 

The  festivities  were  now  without  the  spirit  of  their  queen — 
an  army  foraging  for  pleasure  bereft  of  their  commander — and 
the  party  broke  up  and  the  guests  departed  much  earlier  than 
had  been  anticipated. 

Isabelle  sought  Brinton,  to  ascertain  if  he  could  enlighten 
her  on  the  suspicious  conduct  of  the  messenger.  He  could 
give  her  no  assistance,  but  strange  surmises  were  aroused, 
and  he  determined  to  know  whether  these  surmises  were 
well  founded. 

In  an  hour  he  was  galloping  towards  St.  Augustine. 

2 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  FATAL  MEETING. 

WHEN  Conere  parted  from  Brinton,  at  the  orange  grove, 
he  walked  rapidly  to  a  bye-path  where  his  horse  was  fastened, 
mounted  and  spurred  him  eagerly  along  the  road  towards  St. 
Augustine.  Within  a  mile  of  the  city,  when  it  was  near 
dark,  he  turned  off  the  main  road  into  an  obscure  trail. 
Along  this  he  galloped  speedily  for  several  hours,  and  then 
reined  up  at  a  low  uninviting  palmetto  hut,  and  forthwith 
entered  without  ceremony.  He  remained  for  more  than  an 
hour,  and  when  he  came  out,  appeared  anxious  to  get  beyond 
hearing  before  any  one  should  follow  him ;  but  as  he  was 
about  to  mount  his  jaded  steed,  a  torch-light  flashed  from 
the  hut  and  a  voice  hailed  him. 

"  Remember,  at  two  o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"I'll  be  there,"  replied  Conere  with  evident  impatience, 
and  the  sound  of  his  horse's  hoofs  soon  died  away  at  the  hut. 

We  will  not  follow  the  Spaniard  in  his  wanderings  that 
night.  About  noon  of  the  following  day,  he  slowly  ap 
proached  St.  Augustine.  He  paid  no  heed  to  the  burning 
sun,  and  though  he  was  much  oppressed,  it  was  not  on  ac 
count  of  the  sultry  air,  that  had  covered  his  tired  horse  with 

(18) 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  19 

vrhite  foam.  He  stopped  at  a  mean  looking  house,  in  the 
suburbs  of  the  city,  flung  his  bridle  to  a  negro  in  attendance, 
hastily  turned  a  corner,  and  rapidly  pursuld  his  way  towards 
the  heart  of  the  city.  He  proceeded  to  the  public  square, 
which  opens  on  Mantanzas  Sound,  and  striding  before  the 
monument  dedicated  to  the  constitution  of  the  Spanish  Cor- 
tez,  which  rears  its  front  in  the  center,  struck  directly  to 
what  the  French  call  a  cafe,  situated  near  one  of  the  corners. 
Addressing  a  few  words  to  the  swarthy-looking  attendant  at 
the  bar,  Conere  walked  up  a  flight  of  narrow  stairs.  The 
cafe  was  a  two  story  building,  erected  of  coquina,  (a  peculiar 
sea-shell,  employed  extensively  for  building  purposes  some 
years  ago  along  the  Florida  coast,)  and  in  the  rear  of  the 
second  story  was  a  low,  dark  room,  to  which  Conere  directed 
his  steps.  He  entered  without  knocking,  and  throwing  his 
sombrero  on  the  table,  surveyed  the  apartment.  Upon  a 
bench  near  the  window,  he  espied  a  rough-looking  man,  per 
haps  thirty-five  years  of  age,  who  gazed  upon  his  dark  brow 
a  moment,  and  then  very  indifferently  remarked : 

"You're  punctual,  Cabot  —  no  doubt  you're  prepared.'' 

"  Have  you  the  papers  ?  "  returned  Conere,  with  ill-feigned 
annoyance,  disdaining  the  seat  to  which  his  companion 
pointed  him. 

With  the  most  unconcerned  manner,  the  rough  man  an 
swered,  "If  I  haven't,  my  pocket's  been  picked  since  I  lay 
down  here.  Ah!  here  they  are,  all  right!" — producing  a 
roll  of  documents  from  a  large  pocket  in  his  coarse  coat,  and 
throwing  them  on  the  table. 

"What  are  the  sums?"  said  Conere,  still  standing,  with 
a  struggle  to  appear  calm. 

"Enough  to  play  the  devil  with  you,  if  you  are  not  pre- 


2O  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

pared  to  cancel  them.  Conere,  these  are  very  different  cir 
cumstances  from  what  you  and  I  calculated  on  when  we  did 
business  together'some  years  ago.  You  were  master  then 
—  the  tide's  changed." 

"  You  will  not  taunt  me,  Espard.  You  have  reason  to  fear 
me,  if  I  am  in  your  power  just  now.  You  know  what  I 
have  been  —  I  feel  one  of  my  old  moods  to-day." 

"  It  will  become-  you,  Conere,  to  keep  cool.  I  am  not 
here  unprepared,  and  you  know  what  1  have  been,"  answered 
Espard,  with  the  most  imperturbable  coolness,  still  reclining 
on  the  bench. 

Conere,  every  moment  falling  into  a  deeper  passion,  looked 
wickedly  at  his  tormentor,  and  replied,  "  You  must  not  taunt 
me,  or  you  shall  know  what  I  can  be  now — but  are  you 
ready  to  settle  this  business?" 

"Are  you?" 

"Yes." 

"  All  right,  then,"  said  Espard,  slowly  raising  himself  up 
and  drawing  the  bench  towards  the  table,  when  Conere 
arrested  his  movements. 

"But  I  am  here  without  a  dollar.  You  must  give  me 
more  time,  or  do  your  best,  and  abide  by  the  consequences." 

"  Threats,  eh  ?  if  I  make  you  pay  your  honest  debts,  that 
have  been  due  these  six  months.  I'll  have  the  last  picayune. 
I'll  not  wait  another  day.  Your  property  shall  pay  me,  if  it 
takes  the  night-cap  off  your  beauty,  and  your  Virginia  lady 
has  to  accommodate  herself  to  a  cabin.  We'll  see  who'll  be 
gentleman  then." 

Espard  had  thrown  off  his  indifference,  and  these  words 
were  uttered  as  if  he  gloated  at  the  prospect  of  making 
Conere  a  beggar.  The  Spaniard  saw  this,  and  felt  that  all 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  21 

his  calmness  was  requisite.  In  the  mildest  tone  he  had  used 
during  their  interview,  almost  in  a  whisper,  he  replied : 

"  No  word  of  my  family,  Espard,  or  by  heavens  you  die  ! " 
In  a  menacing  attitude  he  approached  his  creditor,  who  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  drew  a  pistol,  crying,  "  Beware,  Conere  ;  I 
know  what  I  say,  and  I  mean  it.  If  your  pet  has  to  take 
the  street,  her  beauty  will  be  a  good  market,  and  you  will 
have  no  more  need  of  money-lenders  who  take  care  of  their 
funds." 

These  words  were  uttered  with  a  peculiar  bitterness,  which 
Conere  fully  understood ;  he  was  livid  with  rage,  and  ex 
claiming,  "  The  torments  of  hell  take  the  wretch ! "  he 
dashed  aside  the  table  which  stood  between  them,  and  sprang 
upon  his  insulter. 

Espard  instantly  fired  his  pistol,  slightly  wounding  Conere 
in  his  right  side.  The  door  of  the  room  was  broken  open  by 
persons  from  below,  who  had  been  alarmed  at  the  noise  made 
in  the  scuffle ;  but  before  they  reached  the  combatants,  Es 
pard  fell  heavily  upon  the  floor,  with  Conere's  dagger  in  his 
breast.  A  portion  of  the  party  appeared  to  be  friends  of  the 
fallen  man,  for  immediately  they  took  him  up  and  conveyed 
him  from  the  cafe,  as  Conere  and  all  the  inmates  supposed, 
dead. 

Without  the  movement  of  a  muscle,  or  an  effort  at  con 
cealment,  Conere  saw  his  victim  borne  away.  He  was 
about  to  follow  the  company,  when  his  eye  fell  upon  the  roll 
of  papers  about  which  the  difficulty  had  commenced,  lying 
near  the  upturned  table.  He  hastily  grasped  them,  and 
hiding  them  beneath  his  coat,  muttered,  "  The  man  who 
would  have  conspired  has  gone  to  the  devil,  and  Isabelle  and 
her  mother  are  safe." 


22  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

By  this  time  officers  had  arrived,  and  Conere  was  taken 
into  custody.  His  Secretary  happened  to  be  in  the  city, 
and  soon  heard  of  the  affray  and  hastened  to  the  magistrate 
who  had  Conere  in  durance.  He  would  make  no  effort  at  a 
release  —  attempt  no  palliation — he  had  calmly  determined 
to  let  matters  take  their  course  and  meet  his  fate.  But  he 
was  glad  to  see  his  Secretary,  because  there  were  certain 
papers  at  Rillwood  of  which  the  peace  of  his  family  might 
require  him  to  be  possessed. 

Of  the  Secretary's  reception  at  Rillwood,  during  the  Pat- 
goe  party,  our  history  has  made  mention.  When  he  returned 
to  St.  Augustine  he  found  Conere  in  a  strange  mood.  He 
would  answer  no  questions  satisfactorily,  and  had  none  to 
ask  about  his  family.  The  Secretary  importuned  him  for 
permission  to  tell  his  wife  that  night  what  was  the  cause  of 
his  absence.  At  length,  knowing  the  knowledge  must  soon 
come  to  her,  and  wishing  that  she  should  communicate  the 
sad  news  to  Isabelle,  he  consented. 

The  wound  he  received  had  been  dressed  and  gave  him 
little  annoyance.  It  was  in  no  degree  dangerous.  He  was 
not  confined  in  the  common  jail,  but  had  been  provided  with 
a  room  in  an  old  fort  fronting  on  the  Mantanzas,  and  was 
provided  with  all  the  conveniences  he  desired.  Soon  after 
his  Secretary  departed  for  Rillwood,  he  called  fur  a  cigar, 
had  it  lighted,  and  throwing  himself  upon  a  couch,  composedly 
drew  a  cloud  of  thin  smoke  around  him.  When  the  guard 
had  retired  to  his  place  outside  the  door,  taking  from  his 
pocket  two  rolls  of  papers,  he  opened  them,  and  after  looking 
at  them  a  few  minutes  ignited  them,  piece  by  piece,  and 
watched  them  slowly  burn,  till  every  particle  had  been 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  23 

• 

reduced  to  ashes  ;  then,  in  the  most  determined  manner,  he 
paced  his  room,  muttering : 

"  Let  them  do  their  worst  now  —  let  them  hang  me  if  they 
can.  I  ought  to  die  ;  I've  lived  long  enough  in  this  world. 
They  cannot  expose  me.  Espard  is  dead,  thank  God,  and 
the  only  man  whom  I  need  fear  is  far  away.  Isabelle  and 
her  mother  are  secure ;  they  have  the  richest  plantation 
about  St.  Augustine,  and  they  can  do  without  me.  It  is 
best  I  should  die  now,  for  there's  no  telling  what  may  hap 
pen  when  the  news  that  I  killed  Espard  gets  abroad.  I'll 
wait  patiently  for  what  does  come,  but  I  have  lived  too  long 
in  this  world  not  to  know  what  will  save  me  from  an  igno- 
minous  public  death." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  DAUGHTER'S  RESOLVE. 

ISABELLE  CONERE  passed  a  restless  night,  and  when  the 
soft  air  of  early  morn  breathed  into  her  apartment,  she  arose 
from  her  couch  and  sat  down  by  a  window  overlooking  the 
orange  grove.  The  fragrance  of  those  trees,  exhaling  de- 
liciously  from  the  dew  drops  which  trembled  on  their  leaves 
and  blossoms,  hung  in  the  pure  air  about  her.  Sometimes 
she  leaned  her  head  on  the  window  sill,  as  if  in  deep  revery  ; 
then  she  watched  the  faint  streaks  of  dawn  appear  in  the 
eastern  sky,  as  the  sun  neared  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  and 
again  she  cast  her  eyes  confidently  up  to 

"  The  blue  eye  of  God,  which  is  above  us." 
Near  one  of  the  rills  that  murmured  around  the  mansion, 

"  A  mocking  bird,  wildest  of  singers, 

Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that  hung  over  the  water, 
Shook  from  his  little  throat  such  floods  of  delicious  music, 
That  the  whole  air,  and  the  woods,  and  the  waves,  seemed  silent  to  listen. 
Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones,  and  sad  ;  then  soaring  to  madness, 
Seemed  they  to  follow  or  guide  the  revel  of  frenzied  Bacchantes. 
Single  notes  were  then  heard,  in  sorrowful,  low  lamentation  ; 
Till,  having  gathered  them  all,  he  flung  them  abroad  in  derision." 

(24) 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  25 

The  restless  girl  listened,  enraptured,  feeling  that,  in  the 
natural  eloquence  of  sympathy,  the  wild  singer  expressed  her 
emotions. 

She  had  determined  that  the  day  should  not  pass  without 
bringing^  full  knowledge  to  her  of  what  had  befallen  her 
father,  and  of  the  troubles  she  foreboded  that  were  to  fall 
upon  their  house. 

As  soon  as  the  servants  were  stirring,  leaving  untouched 
the  morning  meal  that  her  maid  had  brought  her,  she  sent  a 
request  that  her  mother  would  meet  her  in  the  parlor,  and 
walked  out  on  the  lawn.  She  had  heard  the  Secretary 
return  to  the  mansion  in  the  night,  and  knew  that  he  had 
called  for  her  mother,  and  she  hoped  to  meet  him  in  some  of 
the  walks  ;  but  in  this  she  was  disappointed,  and  she  returned 
to  the  house  with  the  fears  of  the  night  in  no  degree  allayed. 
When  she  entered  the  parlor,  her  mother  awaited  her.  Her 
first  salutation  was: 

"Mother,  will  father  be  home  to-day?"  —  taking  her 
parent  by  the  hands,  and  looking,  through  fast  flowing  tears, 
into  her  face.  Her  mother  was  moved,  and  answered,  with 
much  feeling: 

"I  fear,  daughter,  you  will  not  see  your  father  at  home 
for  many  days  —  perhaps  for  years." 

"What  has  happened  to  him?"  said  Isabelle,  wildly. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  now,  child.  I  will  see  you  when  you 
are  more  calm." 

And  the  mother's  overflowing  heart  revealed  its  deep  emo 
tion  in  scalding  tears  and  suppressed  sobs,  for  Conere  did 
not  tell:  the  Secretary  that  he  had  not  committed  premeditated 
murder.  Under  this  impression  his  wife  suffered,  and  she 
ended  this  painful  conference  by  abruptly  withdrawing  from 


26  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

the  parlor,  leaving  Isabelle  in  an  anxiety  of  mind  which 
impelled  her  to  fathom  the  mystery  at  any  hazard. 

This  mother,  with  all  her  good-heartedness,  was  one  of 
those  women  who  never  can  freely  communicate  with  their 
children  upon  afflictions  that  may  befall  the  family  —  counsel 
them  on  the  stern  duties  of  life,  or  instruct  them  fully  upon 
its  cares  and  griefs  —  and  Isabelle  had  grown  to  womanhood 
as  unsophisticated  in  all  these  matters  as  the  child  of  the 
forest. 

No  sooner  had  the  door  closed  behind  her  mother,  than 
i  Isabelle  was  out  on  the  lawn  again.  The  fresh  air  was 
pleasant  upon  her  fevered  brow,  and  she  became  somewhat 
calmed  in  her  ramble,  before  she  found  the  Secretary  :  but 
yet,  with  a  profusion  of  dark  ringlets  hanging  disheveled 
about  her  fair  neck  —  her  face  pale  with  watching,  and  her 
eyes  sparkling  with  the  lustre  of  anxiety,  her  appearance 
startled  him,  when  he  met  her  in  a  garden  path,  back  of  the 
mansion.  With  an  arch  grace  of  manner,  she  accosted  him : 

"  You  had  a  pleasant  ride  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Rather,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"  Is  not  the  air  sweet  and  pure  ?  " 

The  Secretary  was  embarrassed.  He  had  expected  a 
a  storm  when  he  saw  Isabelle  approach  him.  She  was  now 
so  strangely  calm,  he  feared  she  might  have  heard  of  her 
father's  arrest,  and  become  partially  deranged,  and  he  was 
considering  how  to  answer  her,  when  her  expression  changed, 
and  she  drove  his  speculations  all  out  of  his  head,  by 
inquiring: 

"  Did  father  send  me  anything  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  wondering  servant. 

"  Where  did  you  le^ve  him,  Benjamin  ?  " 

"At  the  citv." 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  27 

"  I  know  that,  Benjamin,  and  you  cannot  evade  me.  I 
will  know  where  he  is,  and  you  shall  tell  me ! " 

"  I  dare  not,  Miss  Isabelle." 

"  But  I  have  said  you  shall"  replied  the  girl,  with  a  wild 
energy  which  made  the  Secretary  quake. 

"  It's  dreadful,  and  you  would  curse  me." 

"  I'll  thank  you  —  I'll  like  you,  Benjamin.  If  it's  dread 
ful,  so  much  the  more  should  I  know  all  about  it — will  you 
tell  me,  Benjamin  ?" 

As  if  forced  from  him  with  a  great  effort,  the  Secretary 
uttered  the  words: 

"  He's  in  prison." 

"  In  prison ! "  echoed  Isabelle.  As  upon  the  wings  of 
the  wind,  she  flew  along  the  garden  paths,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  burst  into  her  mother's  room. 

"  Why  is  my  father  imprisoned  ?  "  were  her  first  words. 

"  Imprisoned,  daughter,  who  told  you  ?  " 

"  Benjamin ;  I  forced  it  from  him.  But,  mother,  quick 
—  I  must  know  —  my  brain's  on  fire  !" 

In  broken  sentences,  and  with  frequent  interruptions,  by 
the  repressing  of  deep  emotion,  the  mother  revealed  to  her 
daughter  what  the  Secretary  had  related  at  their  interview 
during  the  night.  When  Isabelle  had  learned  the  dangerous 
circumstances  under  which  her  father  was  placed,  she  walked 
backwards  and  forwards  for  some  minutes,  with  her  hands 
pressed  on  her  brow,  then  stopping  before  her  mother,  she 
cried: 

"  It  is  false  —  it  is  a  conspiracy.  I  don't  believe  a  word 
of  it.  The  man  who  is  dead  was  a  bad  man,  and  if  father 
killed  him,  he  had  cause  for  it.  He  shall  not  die.  He  shall 
be  liberated ! " 


28  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

"  My  daughter,  be  calm,"  interposed  the  weeping  mother. 
"  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  doing." 

"  But  I  do,  mother — I  am  in  earnest — it  shall  not  be  so  ! " 
And  with  impotent  passion  the  afflicted  daughter  clasped  her 
hands  and  wept  scalding  tears  upon  her  mother's  neck  ;  then 
in  a  moment  sank  by  her  side,  and  rested  her  head  upon  the 
ottoman  on  which  the  mother  sat. 

Suddenly  a  violent  storm  had  come  up,  and  the  rain  began 
to  fall  heavily  upon  the  roof.  Its  dull,  regular  music  seemed 
to  soothe  the  stricken  mother  and  daughter.  Isabelle  raised 
her  head — 

"  Mother,  I  read  in  that  French  history  Benjamin  lent  me, 
of  a  young  girl,  who  left  her  home,  in  devotion  to  her  coun 
try,  and  went  to  Paris,  determined  to  deliver  the  land  of  her 
birth  from  the  mad  passions  of  a  man  who,  she  believed,  was 
the  great  cause  of  the  social  evils  that  oppressed  the  people. 
She  killed  him,  mother — killed  the  bad  man.  It  is  nobler  to 
save  a  father.  I  shall  never  rest  till  my  father  is  saved.  I 
know  he  is  not  a  murderer — I  will  never  believe  it." 

The  mother  had  no  power  to  restrain  her  daughter ;  she 
had  been  unaccustomed  to  maternal  restraint  in  her  childish 
sports  ; — what  influence  could  the  parent  now  have  over  the 
wild  frenzy  which  distracted  the  young  girl's  mind  ?  She 
could  only  say,  mildly: 

"  You  must  go  to  rest,  Isabelle.  You  do  not  know  what 
you  talk  about.  Sleep  would  compose  you." 

"  Sleep,  mother ! — I'll  go  to  my  room,  but  not  to  rest." 

Isabelle  retired.  She  loved  her  mother,  and  would  always 
obey  her  implicitly,  when  her  wild  passions  were  not  stirred. 
She  threw  herself  upon  a  couch,  and  lay  with  her  eyes  fixed 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  29 

* 

on  the  ceiling,  as  if  she  would  count  the  rain-drops  as  they 
pattered  upon  the  roof. 

Isabelle  Conere  had  taste,  if  she  had  not  meekness.  She 
loved  flowers — she  loved  the  birds — she  loved  nature  in  its 
calmest  as  well  as  wildest  aspects ;  and,  hanging  about  her 
room,  were  representatives  of  all  these  tastes,  that  would  not 
have  discredited  a  much  more  pretending  boudoir. 

In  an  hour,  the  mother  called  to  see  if  her  daughter  rested. 
She  found  her,  as  it  were,  in  a  trance  ;  but  the  parent's  foot 
fall  aroused  her,  and  springing  to  her  feet,  she  exclaimed: 

"  The  storm  is  past,  mother.  I  shall  see  father  this  after 
noon." 

"  Not  calm  jet,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Not  calm  ?  No  !  Mother,  I  wonder  how  you  can  be  so 
calm ;  but  you  are  older — you  have  had  more  experience — 
you  can  control  your  feelings." 

"  And  you  must  learn  to  do  so,  Isabelle,  or  you  will  find 
this  a  sad  world." 

"  It  is  a  lesson  I  cannot  learn  now,  mother.  I  know  this 
is  a  sad  world.  What  a  proof  I  now  have — my  father  in 
prison!  Mother,  I  will  go  with  you  to  see  him  to-day." 

The  mother  knew  that  it  would  be  useless  to  deny  Isabelle 
this  privilege,  and  perforce  she  answered: 

"  If  you  wish  it." 

"  You  know  I  do,  mother.  I  made  Benjamin  promise, 
this  morning,  if  you  would  go,  to  take  us  to  the  city  this 
afternoon ;  and  if  he  had  not  consented,  I  should  have  sent 
for  Brinton." 

Before  five  o'clock  that  afternoon,  under  the  escort  of  Ben 
jamin,  Isabelle  and  her  mother  applied  for  permission  to  see 
Conere.  Their  request  was  cheerfully  granted.  Isabelle 


30  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

» 

was  pressed  to  her  father's  heart.  She  looked  up  fondly 
into  his  face  ;  it  was  careworn. 

"  You  grieve,  father,  that  wicked  men  persecute  you,  but 
you  shall  be  liberated,"  she  remarked,  affectionately,  half 
soliloquizing. 

"  I  fear  not,  my  daughter,"  was  his  reply,  in  a  tone  which 
chilled  her. 

Isabelle  glanced  around  the  dreary  room,  so  different  from 
that  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed,  and  through  dripping 
eyelashes  gazed  at  her  father. 

"  But  you  are  innocent,  father.     You  must  be  rescued." 

The  father  had  practiced  deception  all  his  life,  but  he  dare 
not  deceive  Isabelle.  He  was  thinking,  and  did  not  answer 
her  promptly. 

'k  Tell  me  you  are  innocent,  father.  Say  they  have  per 
secuted  you.  What  made  them  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  would  not  deceive  you,  Isabelle.  I  do  not  feel  myself 
guilty,  but  I  did  kill  Espard." 

"  Was  it  premeditated  ?  Did  you  do  it  without  cause  ?  " 
eagerly  asked  the  daughter,  tightening  her  grasp  on  her 
father's  hand. 

"  Neither,"  he  replied  coolly.  "  He  insulted  me  basely. 
I  threatened  him — he  fired  his  pistol  at  me,  and  I  stabbed 
him." 

"  I  knew  it — I  knew  it.  Thank  God,  you  shall  be  res- 
eu*d." 

"  But  this  I  cannot  prove,  my  daughter.  My  dagger  was 
found  in  his  breast." 

"  I  care  not,"  she  answered  thoughtfully.  "  A  way  will 
come  ;  a  way  rmist  come." 

At  this  moment  Benjamin  entered,  and  told  them  that 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  31 

the  hour  of  their  privilege  had  expired,  and  the  guard  de 
manded  his  prisoner.  Conere  took  a  tender  leave  of  his 
wife  and  daughter,  and  Benjamin  escorted  them  back  to 
Rill  wood. 

This  Benjamin  was  a  New  England  boy  who  had  followed 
Brinton  to  Florida.  He  had  been  a  school-mate,  and  his 
father  having  been  an  old  friend  of  the  Brinton  family,  Lecl- 
yard  took  the  boy  south  with  him,  to  enable  him  to  get  a 
"  start  in  the  world."  At  first  he  had  a  great  "  notion  "  of 
fighting  the  Indians,  but  Brinton  convinced  him  that  this 
business  would  be  poor  "  pay,"  and  he  gave  up  the  idea,  to 
become  the  secretary  of  Conere,  and  a  sort  of  "  general 
help"  about  his  family.  He  had  determined  on  "  making 
his  fortune  "  before  he  returned  to  New  England. 

He  had  not  yet  proceeded  very  far  towards  the  "  goal  of 
his  ambition,"  but  perhaps  brighter  days  are  in  store  for 
him.  He  was  working  like  a  man  who  means  to  u  rise  in 
the  world."  He  had  a  respectable  quantum  of  Yankee 
economy,  and  every  odd  picayune  he  could  spare,  went  to 
wards  the  purchase  of  some  rare  book.  Conere  and  Brinton 
both  had  large  libraries,  but  Benjamin  had,  long  since,  made 
himself  acquainted  with  all  the  congenial  lore  they  contained ; 
and  with  a  carte  blanche  to  all  the  lawyers'  and  doctors'  of 
fices  of  St.  Augustine,  as  well  as  to  a  number  of  private 
libraries,  he  was  reaping  all  the  advantages  of  book  learn 
ing,  which  the  times  and  his  circumstances  allowed.  He 
was  a  fellow  of  rough  manners,  from  early  association,  but 
naturally  quite  a  gentleman  in  his  address.  He  took  great 
pains  to  give  himself  the  air  of  a  well  bred  citizen,  and  it 
had  begun  to  be  apparent  that  communion  with  men  and 
books  was  giving  his  manners  a  polish  and  his  conversation 


32  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

a  point ;  and  about  the  time  of  which  we  write,  it  was  whis 
pered  that  Benjamin  had  enough  of  the  genuine  Yankee  in 
his  composition  to  make  a  stir  in  the  world  some  day.  He 
was  now  about  twenty  years  of  age,  was  tall  and  sinewy, 
had  dark  hair  that  hung  in  graceful  wavelets,  and  a  bold 
black  eye  that  possessed  a  general-observation  express 
ion,  which  gave  his  countenance  quite  the  look  of  a  man 
of  the  world.  He  had  labored  diligently  and  watchfully  to 
conquer  New  England  mannerisms,  but  he  could  never  so 
remodel  the  outward  character,  stamped  upon  him  by  nature 
and  education,  that  he  would  not  at  first  "  guess  "  have  been 
"reckoned"  a  Yankee,  by  all  who  had  the  slightest  famil 
iarity  with  the  habits,  manners  and  peculiarities  of  that  class 
of  the  genus  homo. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE  POSET  DANCE. 

HAD  Isabella  Conere  been  called  to  follow  to  the  grave 
the  remains  of  a  father  who  had  died  in  honor,  though  the 
affliction  had  set  heavily  upon  her,  she  could  have  borne  up 
against  it  without  palor  of  cheek,  dimming  of  eye,  or  decline 
in  the  elasticity  of  her  step;  but  to  see  him  whom  she  had 
loved,  with  that  trusting  aifection  that  believes  its  object  can 
do  no  wrong,  buried  within  the  thick  walls  of  a  dismal  cell, — 
if  she  did  feel  that  he  deserved  not  the  punishment  which 
the  laws  put  upon  him, — was  the  germ  of  a  grief  that  im 
mediately  began  to  sap  the  buoyant  spirits  that  had  blessed 
her  girlhood.  She  had  not  given  up  the  strong  determina 
tion,  taken  hastily  in  an  hour  of  violent  passion,  that  her 
father  should  be  liberated.  She  had  formed  no  idea  how 
this  deliverance  was  to  be  effected — she  reflected  not  of  the 
means — she  determined,  with  all  the  power  of  an  uncurbed 
will,  upon  the  end. 

Conere  had  been  a  prisoner  in  the  castle  of  St.  Mark, 
now  called  Fort  Marion,  nearly  six  months.  This  castle, 
commanding  the  approach  to  St.  Augustine,  between  Anas- 
tasia  Island  and  the  main  shore,  was,  at  the  time  of  which 
we  write,  used  as  a  civil  and  military  prison. 
3  (33) 


34  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

It  is  the  oldest  fort  in  the  United  States,  having  been 
built  in  1756.  With  its  grass-grown  walls,  lofty  turrets 
and  massive  battlements,  which  give  it  an  air  of  antique 
romance, — with  the  stories  told  of  some  of  its  dungeons, 
that  they  were  at  one  time  used  for  the  purposes  of  the 
Spanish  Inquisition,  it  forms  a  great  attraction  to  the  "  sight 
seekers  "  Avho  visit  the  Peninsula.  The  casemate  in  which 
Conere  was  confined  was  that  from  which,  some  years  sub 
sequently,  the  Indian  Coacoochee,  youngest  son  of  the 
renowned  and  subtile  chief  Philip,  escaped  through  an  em 
brasure  ;  and  many  curiosity-lovers  have  walked  over  its 
damp  floors,  who  had  no  thought  of  the  bitter  tears  shed 
profusely  upon  them,  by  a  devoted  daughter. 

The  Spaniard  had  been  arraigned  before  an  inferior  court, 
and  remanded  to  prison  to  await  his  trial,  before  the  proper 
tribunal,  for  the  amazing  crime  of  murder  in  the  first  degree. 
He  had  employed  no  counsel ;  he  made  no  explanation, 
attempted  no  palliation.  Brinton  had  used  every  effort 
possible,  in  his  behalf,  but  Conere  would  second  no  scheme 
for  his  release. 

It  is  strange  that  he  made  no  full  confession  of  all  his 
circumstances  to  his  family ;  but  when  the  thought  was  sug 
gested,  or  it  came  up  in  his  mind,  his  universal  soliloquy 
•was,  "  Ashes  are  not  mortgages."  And  when  Brinton 
urged  him  to  make  preparation  for  his  approaching  trial,  he 
answered : 

"  I  cannot,  would  not  tell  you  why  ;  but  it  is  best  they 
should  do  their  worst.  I  shall  be  prepared." 

The  people  believed  that  Conere  was  a  base  murderer. 
They  knew  him  to  be  a  man  of  dark  passions,  with  a  Span 
iard's  disregard  of  the  life  of  an  enemy ;  and  there  were 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  35 

those  who,  notwithstanding  all  that  Madam  Conere  had  done, 
as  an  angel  of  mercy  and  charity,  circulated  base  rumors, 
and  alienated  many  friends. 

Though  the  blight  of  crime  had  fallen  on  the  master  of 
Rillwood,  in  what  were  his  wife  and  daughter  changed  ? 
Nothing  but  devotion.  But  the  purblind  world  cannot  rec 
ognize  nice  distinctions  unless  they  happen  to  be  in  a  desired 
favor  ;  and  there  were  few  of  Isabelle  Conere's  friends  who 
regarded  her  the  more  tenderly  because  she  appeared  pre 
pared  to  sacrifice  her  life  at  her  father's  order,  to  save  him 
from  his  impending  fate. 

Madam  Conere,  tender-hearted,  mild-natured,  grieved 
sorely  at  the  coldness  of  former  intimate  acquaintances ; 
and  she  was  dying,  as  the  tropical  plant  dies  in  a  chill  clime, 
for  the  want  of  that  life-giving  nourishment  necessary  to 
bind  her  closely  to  earth — sympathy  in  the  rendering  of 
good  deeds — that  had  made  her  life  blessed.  Isabelle  said 
of  all  who  grew  distant : 

"  Let  them  go,  mother,  they  are  not  worth  having." 

But  the  mother  could  not  find  in  her  heart  a  shade  of 
feeling  akin  to  her  daughter's  cynicism  ;  and  every  day  her 
cheek  grew  paler,  her  form  became  more  attenuated,  and  at 
the  return  from  each  sad  visit  to  her  imprisoned  husband,  it 
was  evident  another  of  the  ties  that  bound  her  to  earth  had 
been  broken.  There  were  true  friends  among  the  poor  and 
lowly  minded,  who  were  welcomed  to  her  household,  and 
their  anxious  concern  did  much  to  soothe  her  sorrows  ;  but 
they  could  not  bring  back  her  waning  strength,  nor  restore 
the  lustre  to  her  listless  eye. 

But  it  must  not  be  said  that  all  the  influential,  who,  in 
prosperity,  had  been  friends  of  the  Rillwood  family,  now 


36  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

deserted  them.  There  were  those  who  did  not  vanish  when 
adversity  fell  upon  Rillwood,  as  the  early  blossom  vanishes 
when  the  cold  mountain  air  comes  upon  it,  as, 

"Winter  still  lingering  on  the  verge  of  Spring, 
Retires  reluctant,  and  from  time  to  time 
Looks  back." 

Foremost  among  the  true  ones,  should  be  mentioned  Brin- 
ton  and  Benjamin. 

Isabelle  had  counseled  with  Brinton.  She  had  declared 
her  determination  that  at  all  hazard  her  father  should  be 
released  from  prison,  before  the  threatening  vengeance  of 
the  law  fell  upon  him,  hoping  to  gain  the  aid  of  his  strong 
mind  and  worldly  experience,  in  devising  the  means  by 
which  her  object  was  to  be  accomplished  ;  but  when  she  had 
revealed  all  to  him,  with  amazement  he  exclaimed : 

"  It  cannot  be,  Isabelle,  honorably,  except  by  means 
of  a  pardon,  and  of  that  you  know  there  can  be  no 
hope." 

"  It  shall  be,  Ledyard  Brinton,"  returned  Isabelle,  in  a 
tone  which  made  him  shudder,  "  with  or  without  a  pardon ; 
and  if  you  now  desert  me,  I  must  seek  aid  where  I  can 
place  my  confidence." 

"  I  will  aid  you,  Isabelle — will  do  all  an  honorable  man 
can  do ;  but  my  self-respect  requires  me  to  tell  you  that 
your  project  is  a  mad  one." 

"  I  am  resolved,  Ledyard.  I  know  you  too  well  to  be 
lieve  you  could  now  give  me  your  confidence  ;  and  the 
counsel  I  expected  from  you,  I  must  seek  from  a  stranger. 
But  do  not  plead  with  me ;  it  will  avail  nothing." 

These  words  were  uttered  by  Isabelle  with  deep  emotion, 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  37 

as  she  walked  with  Brinton  along  the  avenue  leading  from 
the  Augustine  road  to  Rillwood  mansion.  They  were  unan 
swered  for  some  moments.  Brinton  had  absented  himself 
from  festivities  proceeding  at  his  house,  under  the  direction 
of  his  aunt  and  her  daughter,  to  spend  half  an  hour  with 
Isabelle,  and  they  had  been  walking  some  time  when  the 
conversation  we  have  detailed,  occurred.  We  will  not 
describe  their  parting  that  night,  but  let  the  conduct  of 
Brinton  reveal  his  feelings,  when,  an  hour  afterwards,  he 
returned  to  Windsor. 

The  Posey  Dance  had  opened  with  spirit,  and  a  "  merrie 
companie  "  were  whirling  its  giddy  mazes  with  general  de 
light.  Benjamin  appeared  to  be  master  of  ceremonies.  We 
shall  see  how  it  happened. 

The  Posey  Dance,  not  like  the  Patgoe,  is  a  favorite,  par 
ticularly  of  west  Florida.  The  ladies  of  a  household,  wish 
ing  to  gather  their  friends,  erect  an  altar,  decorated  with 
bouquets  and  festoons  of  flowers,  which  is  understood  by  the 
gentlemen  as  an  invitation  to  call  and  admire  the  taste  and 
skill  of  the  fair  architects.  The  lady  of  the  house,  culling 
a  rare  bouquet,  presents  it  to  the  gentleman  of  her  choice, 
and  if  he  accept  the  honor,  he  becomes  master  of  the  fes 
tivities,  chooses  the  lady  as  queen  of  the  ball,  and  then 
follow  Spanish  dances  and  whirling  waltzes. 

Brinton's  English  cousin  had  chosen  Benjamin  as  the 
gentleman  with  whom  she  was  best  acquainted,  and  the 
aspiring  New  Englander  felt  his  consequence  as  much  as  if 
he  had  been  king  of  all  the  Spaniards,  instead  of  super 
intendent  of  Spanish  dances  for  a  few  hours. 

Brinton  had.  no  heart  to  join  the  gay  assemblage  of 
dancers,  and  he  wandered  towards  a  bower  in  the  garden, 


38  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

from  which,  on  the  calm  night  air,  floated  sounds  of  delicious 
music. 

His  aunt  was  a  passionate  lover  of  music,  and  she  had  in 
spired  him  with  much  of  her  enthusiasm.  She  had  an  ex 
quisite  ear  and  a  finely  cultivated  voice,  and,  from  the  fami 
lies  in  the  neighborhood,  she  had  collected  half  a  dozen 
young  girls  and  several  gentlemen,  who  often,  under  her 
direction,  made  vocal  with  enrapturing  strains  the  "orange 
groves  about  Windsor.  Brinton  delighted  in  these  parties, 
but  he  could  have  no  pleasure  in  this  one.  Isabelle  should 
have  been  there  to  sing  with  him  wild  and  melancholy  songs. 
He  stood  beside  his  friends  in  the  arbor,  and  followed  the 
tunes  they  sang,  but  he  could  not  sing  with  them.  His  aunt 
observed  his  change  of  manner,  and  when  the  singers  were 
prepared  to  join  the  dancers  in  the  mansion,  she  took  his 
arm,  and  they  wandered  along  a  garden  walk. 

The  aunt  wept  over  the  nephew's  growing  attachment  for 
Isabelle  Conere,  because  her  notions  of  happiness,  in  married 
life,  were  formed  upon  a  much  different  standard  from  that 
generally  regarded  in  Florida,  and  feeling  that  Brinton's 
impulses  were  with  hers,  she  warned  him,  that  if  Isabelle 
Conere' became  his  wife,  he  would  never  have  a  home,  and 
counseled  him  tenderly,  not  to  allow  himself  to  be  entrapped, 
as  she  considered  it. 

Brinton  felt  that  his  aunt  did  not  understand  Isabelle,  and 
he  did  not  heed  her  warnings,  though  he  received  her  coun 
sels  kindly.  On  the  night  of  which  we  now  speak,  she 
knew  from  Brinton's  manner,  that  something  of  no  trivial 
character  had  disturbed  him,  and  she  suspected  that  it  con 
cerned  Isabelle.  When  they  had  walked  where  their  con- 


The    Everglade   Heroes.  39 

versation  would  not  be  overheard,  after  referring  to  Isabelle's 
absence,  and  the  sad  cause,  she  inquired: 

"  But,  Ledyard,  is  the  girl  as  wild  as  ever  ?  " 

"  Wild ! "  he  returned,  speaking  as  if  his  thoughts  had 
been  echoed.  "  If  you  had  seen  her  to-night,  you  had  not 
asked  me  ;  but  it  is  over  now  —  all  over." 

"  What  is  over,  Ledyard  ?  " 

"  Our  intimacy  —  we  have  separated." 

"  Then  you  have  taken  my  counsel — you  believe  that  she 
should  never  be  your  wife  ? "  said  the  aunt,  eagerly. 

"  No,  aunt.  No.  You  do  not  understand  Isabelle.  I 
am  rejected." 

"Rejected!"  repeated  the  lady. 

"  Yes,  rejected,"  said  Briuton,  bitterly. 

"  Has  she  been  a  coquette  —  has  she  deceived  you  ?" 

"  Not  deceived  me,  aunt,  but  she  deceives  herself.  She 
confessed  that  she  loved  me  —  that  were  it  not  for  her 
father's  ill  fate,  I  would  be  her  choice.  But  she  is  mad, 
aunt.  She  says  her  father  shall  be  liberated  —  that  his 
prison  doors  shall  be  opened.  I  told  her  it  was  impossible, 
except  by  force ;  but  she  would  not  hear  me,  and  when  I 
said  she  should  have  some  one  to  counsel  with  her  —  to  be 
her  true  friend,  in  the  troubles  that  had  fallen  upon  her 
house,  and  begged  her  to  let  me  be  her  protector,  she  an 
swered  wildly,  '  You  are  not  the  man,  Ledyard.'  I  told  her, 
all  that  an  honorable  man  could  do  I  was  ready  to  perform. 
But  it  would  not  answer.  She  declared  that  marriage  must 
be  subservient  to  the  object,  for  the  attainment  of  which  she 
had  devoted  her  life,  and  she  would  have  no  man  for  a  hus 
band  who  would  riot  consecrate  himself  to  that  work,  at  all 
risk.  Oh,  she  is  mad !  I  pleaded  with  her  a  few  minutes, 


4-O  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

then  the  expression  of  her  dark  eye  grew  terrible  —  I  shall 
never  forget  it — and  she  fiercely  bid  me  never  dare  to  men 
tion  marriage  to  her  again.  I  cannot  see  her  destroy  her 
self.  What  shall  I  do  ?  What  a  woman  she  would  be,  if 
her  powers  were  directed  in  the  proper  channel." 

And  the  young  man  looked  up  confidently  to  his  aunt,  as 
if  expecting  that  she  would  propose  a  scheme  that  would 
banish  all  his  painful  thoughts ;  but  if  he  had  a  thought  of 
this  character,  it  vanished  when  the  stern  woman  replied: 

"  I  am  sorry  for  her,  Ledyard,  but  I  rejoice  for  you.  It 
is  strange  you  are  not  convinced  that  my  counsel  is  for  your 
good." 

"  You  do  not  know  how  I  love  her,  aunt.  I  would  do 
anything  but  sacrifice  my  honor  to  her,  and  this  she  would 
not  have  me  do.  She  is  mad.  Hers  is  the  purpose  of  a 
crazy  woman,  and  I  must  save  her  from  it."  Saying  these 
words,  Brinton  turned,  as  if  to  go  back  towards  the  mansion. 

"  You  would  not  go  to  her  again,  Ledyard?"  said  the 
aunt. 

"  I  must  walk  alone,"  he  returned,  sadly.  "  I  am  half 
distracted  —  perhaps  I  have  madly  loved  this  girl,  but  I  can 
not  see  her  madly  destroy  herself."  With  these  words,  as 
they  approached  company,  Brinton  disappeared  from  his 
aunt's  side.  She  whispered  as  he  left: 

"  Go  not  now,  Brinton,  or  I  shall  think  you  as  mad  as 
Isabelle." 

But  her  words  were  unheeded.  High  in  the  heavens  rode 
the  full  moon,  but  Brinton  knew  not  whether  he  walked  in 
sunlight  or  moonlight.  He  emerged  from  an  orange  grove 
near  Rillwood,  just  as  a  party  of  revelers,  returning  home 
from  Windsor,  passed  along  a  neighboring  path,  and  not 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  41 

wishing  to  be  observed,  and  knowing  that  he  would  not  now 
be  missed  at  home,  he  sat  down  beneath  one  of  the  trees  and 
endeavored  to  reflect ;  but  his  thoughts  were  not  at  his  com 
mand,  and  he  sat  gazing  towards  the  spot  where  he  supposed 
the  object  of  his  anxiety  to  be,  when  a  dark  form  appeared 
on  the  front  steps,  and  was  admitted  by  Isabelle.  Feelings 
which  he  could  not  explain,  gave  him  an  impulse  to  speak 
one  word  to  her,  at  least,  before  she  reflected  for  the  night, 
on  the  strange  conversation  they  had  held  together  in  the 
early  part  of  the  evening. 

He  appeared  at  the  entrance  to  the  main  hall.  Isabelle 
was  in  the  parlor,  and  answered  his  summons  alone.  Her 
manner  startled  him. 

"  To  what,"  she  said  formally,  "am  I  indebted,  Mr.  Brin- 
ton,  for  this  visit  ?  I  thought  we  had  parted." 

"  I  come  to  talk  to  you,  Isabelle." 

"  I'll  listen  to  you  here,  then ;  but  our  conference  must 
be  brief." 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say,  Isabelle.  You  know  not 
what  I  have  suffered  in  the  last  hour.  Let  me  counsel  you." 

"  You  mistake  me,  Mr.  Brinton.  Did  I  not  tell  you  that 
I  was  resolved.  The  command  of  one  from  the  grave  could 
not  change  me.  Above  us  swings  the  cage  of  a  parrot, 
which  you  taught  to  speak  four  words  —  it  repeats  them  un 
ceasingly,  as  long  as  the  light  of  each  day  lasts.  Go  near 
it  when  you  will,  it  is  crying  ' Polly  wants  to  fly  ^  and  it 
has  never  uttered  any  other  words.  There  is  one  confined, 
for  whose  release  I  shall  labor  as  unceasingly  as  that  parrot 
begs,  and  unless  he  fly  from  his  prison,  never,  until  the  light 
of  life  goes  out,  will  I  relinquish  my  task.  When  you  would 
talk  to  me,  think  of  that  parrot.  You  made  your  choice. 


42  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

Until  you  can  tell  me  you  would  alter  it,  I  command  you, 
speak  to  me  no  more  of  love.  Good  night." 

Isabelle  disappeared,  leaving  Brinton  in  a  state  of  mind 
which  he  alone  could  describe,  who  experienced  its  peculiar 
perplexity  and  embarrassment.  He  walked  slowly  from  the 
mansion,  and  sat  down  in  an  arbor  on  the  main  avenue.  He 
continued  with  his  thoughts  for  an  hour  or  more,  when  voices 
disturbed  him.  He  looked  towards  the  hall  door,  and  by  the 
broad  moonlight  which  streamed  into  it,  he  recognized  two 
persons  whom  he  had  little  expected  to  see  thus  together. 
He  cursed  himself  for  having  stopped  in  that  place ;  then  he 
reflected: 

"All  is  over — it's  no  matter  now." 

In  a  moment,  the  gentleman  had  passed  him ;  he  could 
not  be  deceived.  It  was  Benjamin,  and  he  had  kissed  Isa- 
belle's  hand  at  parting.  Conjecture  and  speculation  were 
at  fault  entirely,  in  divining  the  object  of  this  meeting;  and 
Brinton  was  more  in  wonder  than  ever  at  the  strangeness  of 
Isabelle's  conduct. 

A  great  change  had  come  over  this  man  Benjamin  in  the 
period  intervening  between  this  time  and  his  first  introduction 
in  our  history.  He  was  no  longer  secretary  to  Conere. 
He  was  regarded,  at  St.  Augustine,  as  a  shrewd  Northerner, 
who  had  recently  taken  the  license  to  peddle  pills  and  feel 
pulses.  Benjamin  possessed  that  sly  way  of  getting  along 
through  this  world  which  gives  men  the  reputation  of  being 
"smart  fellows."  It  is  not  exactly  on  the  principle  by  which 
a  miller  or  a  chimney-sweep  gets  through  a  crowd,  but  it  is 
by  making  shrewd  use  of  the  faculty  of  reading  other  men's 
characters  and  dispositions.  It  is  a  faculty  of  incalculable 
advantage  to  the  demagogue — he  knows  all  men  truly, 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  43 

while  they  think  him  anything  but  the  man  he  really  is. 
This  power  enables  the  "wire-puller"  to  prosecute  his  "cun 
ningly  devised  schemes;"  it  is,  too,  of  great  benefit,  many 
times,  to  the  orator ;  and  by  it  the  lawyer  is  enabled  to 
make  out  a  "hard  case"  and  let  his  client  go  "scot  free." 
In  all  business  relations  it  is  available,  and,  to  a  great  ex 
tent,  is  the  secret  of  most  men's  success ;  and  although  it 
may  not  be  always  employed  with  a  view  to  the  maxim  that 
"  honesty  is  the  best  policy,"  we  have  no  doubt  it  is  fre 
quently  the  "policy"  of  dignitaries  whose  position  should  be 
abcve  trickery.  The  Scottish  bard  thought  it  of  no  incon 
siderable  importance,  when  he  gave  the  following  advice : 

"Conceal  yoursel  as  weel's  ye  can 

Frae  critical  dissection, 
But  keek  through  ivery  ither  man 
Wi'  sharpened  slie  inspection." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

RESULTS. 

SPRING  had  departed  —  that  season  when  Florida  puts 
forth  the  vernal  display,  from  which  Ponce  de  Leon,  the 
Spanish  adventurer,  in  1512,  gave  it  its  name,  when,  pursu 
ing  the  fiction  of  a  Carib  girl,  he  sought  a  fountain  whose 
waters  would  rejuvenate  the  man  of  hoary  brow,  and  restore 
the  beauty  of  maidenhood  to  the  careworn  matron. 

Ledyard  Brinton  was  extensively  popular  among  the  young 
and  active  men  of  the  district.  He  was  well  versed  in  mat 
ters  of  state  polity,  and  though  he  did  not  often  appear  in 
courts,  was  deeply  learned  in  the  law.  He  had  entered  the 
arena  of  politics,  to  some  extent,  at  the  earnest  solicitation 
of  influential  friends,  who  admired  his  liberality  and  inde 
pendence,  and,  consistent  with  his  views,  among  the  people 
by  whom  he  was  surrounded,  his  course  had  been  such  as  to 
secure  him  the  confidence  of  the  mass.  He  was  a  reformer, 
but  he  was  not  one  of  those  Hotspurs,  who  cannot  live  but 
in  the  heat  of  angry  agitation ;  and  though  he  would  have 
had  changed,  in  one  day,  many  social  evils  which  oppressed 
a  people  in  the  State  of  his  adoption,  he  knew  that  to  hope 
for  such  a  revolution  was  vain,  and  he  chose  not  to  make 
enemies  by  bitter  upbraidings  and  ascetic  censures  upon  his 

(44) 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  45 

neighbors.  His  object  was  to  conciliate  friends,  and  when 
he  had  gained  their  confidence,  cautiously  put  before  them 
such  facts  as  would  demonstrate  what  was  practical  and 
profitable. 

He  had  been  selected  as  a  candidate  for  a  seat  in  the 
Legislature,  and  the  election  was  to  be  held  in  a  few  months. 

Brinton  was  what  may  be  properly  termed  an  independent 
man  —  not  one  whose  independence  consists  in  a  mulish 
obstinacy,  but  one  who  thinks  and  acts  for  himself,  as  an 
honest  man  should — one  who  is  not  trammeled  by  prejudice 
— who  does  not  travel  in  the  beaten  track  because  he  was  so 
educated,  but  who  has  no  fear  of  breaking  from  conventional 
customs,  when  he  would  follow  the  right  because  of  the 
right.  He  is  the  independent  man,  who  comports  himself  as 
circumstances  justify,  according  to  the  highest  standard  of 
right  and  justice,  whether  before  the  world,  or  in  his  closet — 

"  Whose  armor  is  his  honest  thought, 
And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill." 

Conere  had  been  tried.  The  testimony  was  positive,  and 
there  was  no  escape,  in  the  common  course  of  events,  from 
the  fate  of  a  murderer.  To  his  friends,  Conere's  conduct 
was  inexplicable.  He  met  the  verdict,  condemning  him  to 
death,  with  stolid  indifference  ;  and,  except  that  his  manner 
was  reserved,  nothing  about  him  betokened  the  least  concern 
at  the  anxiety  of  his  friends,  the  grief  of  his  family,  or  the 
dreadful  end  which  awaited  him. 

Brinton  had  been  a  regular  visitor  at  Rillwood  since  the 
evening  of  the  Posey  dance,  but,  though  Isabelle  received 
him  kindly,  her  manner  gave  him  to  understand,  unmistak 
ably,  that  her  determination  was  unchanged. 


46  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

Her  conduct  was  an  enigma  to  him,  as  much  as  that  of  her 
father.  He  could  not  but  feel  that,  to  all  outward  sem 
blance,  for  one  who  loved  a  parent  wildly  as  she  loved  her 
father,  she  bore  bravely  the  troubles  he  had  brought  upon 
his  household,  yet  he  could  not  consider  hers  that  noble 
struggle  against  adversity,  which  meets  trials  sternly,  but 
meekly,  and  prepares  to  profit  by  their  lessons.  She  did  not 
give  him  her  confidence,  and  he  misunderstood  her,  while 
her  heart's  emotions  breathed,  towards  her  father,  Moore's 
impassioned  words — 

"  Oh  what  was  love  made  for  if  'tis  not  the  same 
Thro'  joy  and  thro'  sorrow,  thro'  glory  and  shame?" 

It  was  the  Sabbath  following  the  conviction  of  Conere. 
Gloom,  like  a  pall,  settled  over  Rillwood.  Like  the  fading 
away  of  a  sweet  odor,  had  gone  out  the  life  of  its  mistress, 
sadly,  but  almost  imperceptibly.  She  was  buried  with 
simple  ceremony,  at  the  foot  of  a  cypress  tree  in  the  garden, 
beneath  tfhich  she  had  loved  to  sit.  The  spot  was  marked 
only  by  flowers  that  "  poured  out  their  souls  in  odors,"  but 
it  was  dear,  as  no  sculptured  urn  could  have  made  it,  to  the 
sad  hearts  of  those  whose  afflictions  Madame  Conere  had 
softened  by  her  chanties,  and  whose  griefs  she  had  assuaged 
by  well-timed  kindness.  Her  virtues  had  not  been  written 
in  water,  and  her  good  deeds  did  not  die  with  her. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE  DOCTOR. 

STNCE  the  death  of  Madame  Conere,  Benjamin,  by  his 
cunning  and  intrigue,  upon  the  profession  of  sincerest  friend 
ship,  had  become  a  confidential  visitor  at  Rillwood. 

After  her  mother's  death,  in  looking  over  some  papers  in 
R  secret  drawer  of  her  father's  escritoire,  Isabelle  found  a 
letter,  the  persual  of  which  caused  her  to  exclaim: 

"  My  God !  Why  had  I  not  found  this  sooner  ?  Now  my 
father  shall  be  liberated.  I  feel  that  there  can  be  no  doubt. 
It  is  strange  father  had  not  told  me  something  of  this." 

Rising,  she  rang  for  a  servant.  The  summons  was 
promptly  answered  by  a  trusty  negro,  and  she  said  to  him: 

"  Go  to  St.  Augustine  immediately,  and  tell  Doctor  Benja 
min  that  I  wish  to  see  him  at  Rillwood  as  soon  as  he  can  con 
veniently  come." 

The  servant  hastened  away,  and  in  an  hour  had  properly 
delivered  his  message.  Benjamin  gladly  received  it.  He 
had  that  day  been  informed  that  the  time  of  Conere's 
execution  had  been  fixed  for  the  20th  of  the  following  month  ; 
and  suspecting  that  Isabelle  had  received  the  terrible  news 
and  wished  to  counsel  with  him,  hoping  that  something  would 

(47) 


48  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

occur  to  further  the  designs  he  entertained,  before  the  hour 
had  come,  when 

"  Twilight  lets  her  curtain  down 


And  pins  it  with  a  star," 

he  was  on  his  way  swiftly  to  Rillwood.  He  found  Isabella 
beneath  an  airy  veranda  extending  east  from  the  mansion, 
rose-wreathed  and  vine-encircled.  She  received  him  rather 
affectionately,  remarking: 

"  We  have  good  news,  Doctor.  The  scheme  which  I 
partly  revealed  to  you,  must  succeed." 

"  Then  you  have  not  heard  " 

"  What,  Doctor  ?" 

"  I  had  best  be  plain  —  you  must  expect  it.  It  has  been 
fixed  that  the  execution  shall  take  place  on  the  20th  of  next 
month. '? 

"  Before  that  time,  my  father  shall  have  a  pardon.  His 
release  will  be  honorable,  and  then  we  can  show  that  he 
stabbed  Espard  in  self-defense.  To  consult  you  in  the  selec 
tion  of  a  legal  adviser,  I  seat  for  you  to-day." 

"  But  how  is  this  to  be  done  ?"  inquired  Benjamin,  with 
a  perplexed  manner. 

"  We  will  walk  into  the  house,  and  I'll  show  you,"  an 
swered  Isabelle. 

When  they  were  seated  by  a  lamp,  which  threw  a  soft 
light  over  the  richly  furnished  apartment,  Isabelle  handed 
the  doctor  a  letter,  remarking: 

"  You  know  that,  for  important  reasons,  the  Government  is 
anxious  to  discover  the  man  who  murdered  Major  Bertram, 
some  years  ago,  near  Pensacola,  and  carried  off  certain  state 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  49 

papers,  which,  in  the  prosecution  of   the  Seminole  war,  have 
become  of  much  moment." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Benjamin,  "  I  read  it  all  in  the  Augus 
tine  paper  yesterday." 

"  That  letter  will  tell  you  that  Cabot  Conere,  in  some  way, 
knows  who  this  murderer  was.  It  must  be  the  man  whose 
name  is  signed  there,"  returned  Isabella. 

Benjamin  read  the  document,  examined  the  name,  and  ex 
claimed. 

"  Eureka !  This  must  be  the  fellow.  He  is  fighting  with 
the  Indians,  against  our  forces.  If  Conere  can  give  testi 
mony  that  will  convict  him,  I  know  the  Governor  will  grant 
him  a  pardon.  Brinton  has  influence  with  the  Governor — 
shall  I  not  see  him  to-morrow?" 

"  Speak  not  to  me  of  him,  Benjamin  —  him  on  whom  I 
depended — he  deceived  me  —  I  would  not  now  be  beholden 
to  him." 

A  gle&m  of  light  burst  upon  the  doctor,  as  Isabelle  spoke 
these  words,  which  almost  made  him  utter  an  exclamation  of 
delight ;  but  suddenly  his  natural  cunning  came  to  his  aid, 
and  he  said,  mildly: 

"  It  can  be  done  without  him.     I  have  influential  friends." 

Emotions  had  been  awakened,  which  almost  rendered  Isa 
belle  forgetful  of  the  immediate  business  with  the  doctor, 
and  she  walked  several  times  rapidly  across  the  room,  and 
then,  stopping  at  the  window,  pressed  her  hot  brow  on  the 
cold  glass. 

The  doctor  gazed  at  her  strangely  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  approaching  her,  rested  his  arm  on  the  window  sill. 
She  did  not  know  that  he  was  so  near  her  until  he  whispered, 

"  Isabelle." 
4 


50  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

She  turned  her  weeping  eyes  upon  him,  wondering  what 
brought  him  so  near,  and  perplexed  at  the  peculiarity  of  his 
look. 

"  Isabelle,  you  have  not  been  scornful  lately ;  you  sent  for 
me  to-day  ;  you  have  confided  in  me.  I  know  your  secret. 
You  would  get  your  father  from  prison  ;  let  me  help  you." 

"  I  expect  you  to  do  so,  Benjamin — what  mean  you  ?" 

"  Isabelle,  I  have  dared  to  love  you.  I  loved  you  when 
you  were  a  little  girl.  I  kne\v  it  was  madness  then.  I 
have  worked,  Isabelle,  to  be  worthy  of  you.  I  am  not  what 
I  once  was.  I'll  devote  my  life  to  you." 

The  doctor's  tones  were  eloquent — his  looks  were  impas 
sioned.  He  endeavored  to  take  Isabelle's  hand,  but  she  lifted 
both  to  her  forehead,  and,  as  was  her  worrt  when  wild 
thoughts  surged  in  her  brain,  pressed  them  over  her  eyes, 
and  sinking  upon  a  low  seat,  she  said : 

"  Benjamin,"  in  a  tone  that  made  him  tremble,  "  are  you 
sincere,  or  would  you  only  be  lord  of  this  mansion  ?  I  know 
you  are  ambitious.  Have  you  considered  that  I  am  a  con 
vict's  daughter — that  I  have  been  exiled  from  society  ?" 

"  All — all,"  he  answered,  impetuously,  "  but  you  are  not 
the  less  beloved.  I  love  you  the  more  for  your  devotion  to 
your  father,  the  man  who  first  helped  me.  Were  it  not  for 
what  you  described,  I  should  never  have  dared  to  address 
you.  As  I  expect  to  be  judged,  believe  me  honest." 

Isabelle  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  while  the  tears 
flowed  fast  from  her  downcast  eyes,  then  she  rose  to  her  feet, 
and  presenting  her  hand  to  the  doctor,  said  firmly: 

"  Give  me  a  trial  —  rescue  my  father,  and  this  hand  is 
yours." 

The  doctor  pressed  her  hand  passionately  between  both 
of  his,  and  answered : 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  51 

"  Your  father  was  a  friend  to  me,  for  his  sake  I  would 
do  much  ;  but  for  your  sake,  I  swear  that  I  am  at  your  com 
mand — that  I  will  be  your  slave." 

Without  attempting  to  release  her  hand,  Isabelle  looked 
into  Benjamin's  eyes  and  answered: 

"  I  have  only  to  ask  that  you  will  shrink  from  nothing  to 
liberate  my  father  from  prison  —  mind  nothing.  Can  you 
swear  it  ?" 

"  As  I  hope  for  Heaven,  I  can,"  said  Benjamin. 

"  Then  understand  me.  Remember,  I  have  not  loved  you 
—  I  know  not  that  I  ever  can  love  you;  but  if  you  rescue 
my  father,  I  will  try  to  love  you.  I  sacrifice  my  love  and 
fortune  for  that  purpose.  If  you  deceive  me,  it  will  be  ter 
rible  for  you." 

The  doctor  quailed  beneath  the  look  Isabelle  gave  him,  as 
she  spoke  these  words,  but  he  answered  instantly: 

"  May  it  be  terrible  for  me  if  I  deceive  you." 

"  The  work  should  commence  to-night.  I  would  be  alone. 
Go  now,  Benjamin,  and  to-morrow  bring  me  word  of  whom 
you  have  chosen  for  a  legal  adviser." 

The  doctor  kissed  her  hand,  and  was  in  a  few  minutes  on 
the  road  to  Augustine.  He  traveled  it  in  such  exultation  as 
he  had  never  before  experienced. 

Isabelle  Conere's  emotions  were  the  very  antipode  of  her 
lover's,  in  all  except  hope  that  her  father's  prison  doors 
would  soon  be  opened,  and  the  dread  execution,  thought  of 
which  chilled  her  heart's  blood,  averted. 

When  the  doctor  reached  the  city,  he  proceeded  to  a  ho 
tel,  where  a  political  club  met,  and  was  soon  breathing  an 
atmosphere  redolent  of  liquors  and  tobacco  fumes. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  LEGAL  ADVISER. 

IT  was  the  eve  of  an  election,  which,  at  this  time,  though 
the  country  was  filled  with  soldiers,  and  the  Indians  were 
every  day  committing  depredations,  was  an  era  in  the  history 
of  St.  Augustine ;  one,  too,  that  contrasted  strangely  with 
many  customs  that  had  been  observed  when  the  Spaniards 
ruled  over  the  ancient  city.  The  happy  constitution  of  our 
government  puts  all  men  on  a  level  at  these  periods,  and 
often  those  who  have  the  least  real  consequence,  feel  the 
most  importance. 

In  a  drinking  saloon  closely  filled  with  such  characters, 
Benjamin  appeared,  when  we  parted  from  him  in  the  last 
chapter.  It  was  not  exactly  a  caucus,  or  a  club,  or  a  cabal, 
but  an  irregular  gathering,  at  which  politics  was  the  theme. 
The  discussion  was  on  the  candidates,  and  one  of  the 
"  crowd,"  whose  face  like  that  of  Shakspeare's  Bardolph,  it 
had  cost  many  a  copper  to  keep  in  color,  was  answering  one 
of  his  party,  in  this  wise : 

"  You're  right ;  this  feller  as  is  up  for  the  Legislator,  aint 
the  chap  what  we  wotes  for.  He'd  make  us  give  up  licker. 
He  can't  stand  among  folks  as  likes  liberty." 

"  That  he  can't,  stand  'mong  us,"  returned  another  of  the 

(52) 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  53 

party,  who  was  only  able  to  keep  his  feet  by  leaning  against 
his  friends,  or  holding  by  the  tables.  "  We're  goin  to  exer 
cise  the  right  of  suffrage  for  independence ;  if  we  can't, 
what's  the  use  in  the  Declaration  ?  " 

"  It's  the  doctor's  treat,"  exclaimed  a  toper  who  then 
had  been  treated  till  he  scarcely  knew  anything  but  the  way 
to  the  bar. 

"  So  it  is,"  chimed  in  half  a  dozen  voices,  and  the  doctor 
could  do  nothing  else  than  make  a  sudden  retreat,  or  attend 
to  the  call  on  his  "patriotism."  A  dozen  or  more  arranged 
themselves  where  they  could  be  served  with  their  drinks,  and 
the  doctor  addressed  them : 

"  It's  a  fact,  boys,  Brinton  aint  just  the  chap  we  want  for 
a  legislator.  He's  a  clever  fellow  in  some  things,  but  I 
don't  think  all  his  notions  just  agree  with  this  country. 
You're  right  on  liberty,  boys.  Such  notions  whipped  the 
old  British  —  got  this  land  from  the  Spanish  —  and  they  will 
put  the  Seminoles  where  they  can't  molest  us  any  more. 
Here's  a  health  to  Squire  Lifty  —  he'll  beat  Brinton,  slick." 

The  party  tossed  off  their  glasses,  when  a  man,  sitting 
at  one  end  of  the  tables,  who  had  yet  taken  no  part  in  the 
conversation  or  drinking,  quietly  observed: 

"  A  d n  pretty  fellow  you  are,  Doctor,  to  desert  a 

man  who  brought  you  here,  and  made  you  all  you  can  boast 
of.  It's  not  a  week  since  you  were  electioneering  for  him." 

"Turn  him  out!"  exclaimed  several  of  the  "voters"  who 
had  drank  the  doctor's  liquor ;  but  his  shrewdness  was  not 
at  fault,  and  he  very  deliberately  replied,  although  he  was 
much  nettled: 

"  No,  no,  boys.  Let  him  go  it.  Because  I'm  indepen 
dent,  I  expect  to  be  abused.  If  I  saw  I  was  on  the  wrong 


54  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

side,  I  had  a  right  to  wheel  about.  In  politics,  a  man  can't 
always  be  with  his  personal  friends." 

"  Hight,  Doctor  —  right  again.  We  honor  you  for  your 
independence.  We'll  stand  by  you,  too,  till  you're  a  can 
didate  some  day,"  said  the  spokesman  of  the  drinking  party. 
In  the  meantime,  the  individual  who  had  thrown  "  the  fire 
brand"  disappeared,  and  Benjamin,  finding  it  not  necessary 
to  keep  up  further  intercourse  with  the  "sovereigns,"  said 
to  the  man  who  sold  them  drink: 

"  Give  the  boys  another  round,  at  my  expense.  I  have 
an  appointment  in  the  next  room,  and  you  will  excuse  me 
till  I  have  seen  Squire  Lifty." 

He  stepped  out  as  the  party  drank  his  health,  and  in  a 
moment  was  among  a  company  that  was  concocting  plans  for 
the  defeat  of  Brinton's  party  on  the  morrow. 

"Good  evening,  Doctor,"  said  one  of  the  schemers,  "we 
were  just  counting  upon  you." 

At  this,  the  nomin-ee  of  the  company,  Brinton's  opponent, 
came  forward,  and  shaking  the  doctor's  hand  vigorously, 
said : 

"  Your  conversion  to  our  cause,  has  given  us  great  pleasure. 
If  it  had  been  sooner,  we  had  been  surer  of  success.  But 
you  know  our  plans  ;  are  they  right  ?  " 

"  I  think  they're  the  best  you  could  invent,"  returned  Ben 
jamin,  stepping  aside.  "  But,  mind  you,  Brinton  lias  con 
ducted  himself  so  carefully  that  people  wont  believe  much 
against  him.  They  know,  at  least,  he  will  do  only  what  he 
thinks  best  for  them,  all  things  considered  ;  and  lie  is  popu 
lar  among  the  liberalists,  and  you  know  there  arc  plenty  of 

them.  But,  Squire,  d n  politics,  to  night  —  I  am  here 

on  other  business.  I  want  to  defeat  Brinton  in  another  way. 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  55 

I  have  a  chance  for  you  to  make  a  handsome  fee.  Excuse 
yourself  to  the  club,  and  meet  me,  in  half  an  hour,  at  the 
cafe,  near  the  Barracks.  I'll  have  things  right  there." 

Benjamin  hastened  to  prepare  for  the  squire,  and  the 
would-be  legislator  immediately  excused  himself  to  his  fol 
lowers  present,  on  the  plea  that  there  were  other  friends  to 
counsel  with,  and  he  must  be  stirring  about.  He  had  drunk 
deeply,  but  he  could  bear  up  against  a  big  load,  and  he  was 
not  yet  too  dull  for  a  scheme,  out  of  which  there  might  come 
a  prospect  of  money. 

Over  a  bottle  of  wine  and  a  cigar,  Benjamin  revealed  to 
Squire  Lifty,  Isabelle's  plan  for  the  rescue  of  her  father,  and 
telling  him  all  about  the  important  letter,  and  offering  a 
liberal  fee  if  he  would  manage  it  successfully,  inquired  what 
he  thought  the  hope  of  success. 

"  It  can  be  done  as  easily  as  I  shall  beat  Brinton  to-mor 
row,  and  when  I  am  elected,  I'll  have  influence  with  the 
Governor.  I'll  undertake  it,  any  how,"  returned  the  lawyer. 

"Then,"  said  Benjamin,  "you  must  see  Isabelle  as  soon 
as  the  election's  over.  I'll  tell  her,  to-morrow  morning,  that 
you  are  engaged.  She'll  give  you  all  the  documents." 

The  new  friends  separated,  the  squire  pleased  with  the 
prospect  of  a  good  office  and  a  fat  fee,  Benjamin  with  the 
prospect  of  an  accomplished  and  beautiful  wife,  a  large  for 
tune,  and  the  getting  of  Brinton  out  of  his  way,  in  his  design 
of  making  a  stir  in  the  world  some  time. 

The  election  took  place,  with  many  a  dispute,  many  a 
squabble,  much  drunkenness,  intrigue  arid  misrepresentation ; 
but  the  candidate  popular  among  the  dram-drinkers,  one  of 
that  class  of  politicians  who  can  "  wire  in  and  wire  out," 
as  expressed  by  a  well  known,  homely  couplet,  was  signally 


56  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

defeated,  and  Brinton  received  official  notice  that  he  had 
been  honored  with  a  seat  in  the  Legislative  Council  of  his 
adopted  State. 

The  doctor,  at  the  time  appointed,  duly  advised  Isabelle 
of  the  selection  of  the  squire,  as  legal  adviser  ;  and  knowing 
nothing  of  the  man,  and  having  confidence  that  Benjamin 
would  exercise  his  best  judgment,  she  had  no  reason  to  be 
dissatisfied. 

On  the  day  after  the  result  of  the  election  had  been  an 
nounced,  the  doctor  conducted  the  squire  to  liillwood,  and 
introduced  him  to  Isabelle. 

He  was  not  in  quite  as  good  spirits  as  he  would  have  been, 
had  he  been  able  to  consider  himself  a  law  maker,  as  well  as 
a  law  mystifier ;  but  he  had  a  little  revenge  to  gratify,  and 
having  been  informed  of  Brinton's  former  relation  to  Isabelle, 
and  the  doctor's  hopes,  his  crafty  nature  was  well  pleased 
with  the  scheme  of  -which  he  had  been  advised,  and  the 
handsome  reward  its  execution  promised. 

He  had  a  long  conference  with  Isabelle  —  examined  the 
important  letter,  and,  assuring  her  that  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  a  pardon,  on  the  ground  she  proposed  asking  it, 
prepared  the  form  of  the  necessary  papers,  and  left  her,  with 
the  advice  that  she  forthwith  see  her  father,  acquaint  him 
with  her  intentions,  get  what  information  he  could  give,  visit 
the  Governor,  and  in  person  sue  for  the  pardon. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  INTERVIEW  AND  THE  PARDON. 

IT  was  a  refreshing  morning  in  early  winter,  when  Isa- 
belle  Conere  left  Rillwood,  attended  by  Doctor  Benjamin, 
for  the  castle  of  St.  Mark's. 

The  foliage  of  the  orange  groves,  the  majestic  palms,  the 
lime,  the  pomegranate  and  the  fig,  deepened,  not  embrowned, 
as  the  frosts  of  a  Northern  clime  change  the  summer  green, 
gently  stirred  by  breezes  balmy  as  those  that  "  blow  soft  o'er 
Ceylon's  isle,"  almost  burthened  the  atmosphere  with  de 
licious  fragrance.  Flowers  by  the  wayside,  of  varied  hue 
and  conformation,  with  their  leaves  and  petals  drooping, 
gave  out,  ere  their  decay,  sweetest  perfume ;  and  bright 
plumaged  birds  twittered  and  sung  in  the  branches  of  all  the 
trees ;  but  Isabelle  was  not  awakened  from  the  thoughtful 
revery  by  the  invigorating  air,  the  prospect  of  the  groves, 
nor  the  charms  of  the  fields.  Winter  was  in  her  mind,  and 
its  desolateness  resembled  more  the  condition  of  Northern 
landscapes,  bleak  and  drear,  beneath  chilling  winds,  than 
the  luxuriance  of  that  Southern  clime.  But  she  did  not  des 
pair,  for  hope  presented  a  spring  time,  near  at  hand,  in  which 
her  joys  would  bloom  afresh  in  the  delights  of  home  associa 
tions.  In  all,  there  was  but  one  object,  around  which  did 

(57) 


58  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

not  gather  affections  in  keeping  with  the  scene,  and  that  ob 
ject  presented  itself  whenever  Doctor  Benjamin,  or  his  ser 
vice,  was  suggested. 

Conere  was  always  glad  to  receive  visits  from  Isabelle, 
but  he  had  seemed  peculiarly  so  since  the  death  of  Madame 
Conere.  He  welco*med  her  with  more  than  wonted  affection 
on  this  morning.  She  had  fear  to  open  the  object  of  her 
visit,  which  she  could  not  account  for ;  but  the  devotion  of 
a  life  was  cast  on  this  hour,  and  she  must  proceed.  When 
they  were  alone,  without  explanation,  she  presented  Conere 
the  papers  Squire  Lifty  had  prepared.  He  read  them  with 
evident  emotion  —  his  breathing  grew  quick,  his  eyes  flashed 
strangely,  and  he  exclaimed  wildly,  grasping  her  hand: 

"  My  daughter,  where,  in  the  name  of  God,  did  you  get 
this  information?" 

"  From  this  letter,  father ;  but  why  are  you  so  agitated  ?  " 

He  snatched  the  letter  she  handed  him  (that  found  in  his 
escritoire),  and  after  looking  at  it  a  moment,  he  became 
more  calm,  and  asked  her: 

"  Do  you  know  who  this  man  is,  and  where  he  is  ?  " 

"  Benjamin  says  he  is  the  Indian  called  Ilulkwa-nunto- 
kay,  who  leads  a  party  of  Mickasukies  in  the  cypress 
swamp." 

"  How  does  Benjamin  know  this  ?" 

"  He  says  an  officer  of  the  army  told  him  that  this  chief 
was  a  white  man  who  was  suspected  of  having  been  engaged 
in  depredations  before  the  Americans  possessed  Florida. 
He  lived  a  short  time  in  Augustine,  and  he  was  then  known 
as  Ilerpez.  Mr.  Lifty  says  he  has  seen  him,  and  knows  that 
he  was  a  bad  man,"  answered  Isabelle,  wondering  why  her 
father  put  such  questions ;  but  she  had  been  accustomed  to 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  59 

moods  that  no  present  circumstances  could  explain,  and  she 
dare  not  interrogate  him  in  regard  to  them. 

"  He  is  a  bad  man,  daughter — that's  what  the  Indian 
name  he  has  chosen  means — but  I  believed  the  man  Herpez 
was  in  another  country.  He  told  me  he  would  go ;  yet  if 
he  is  here,  and  finds  that  Espard  is  killed  " 

As  Conere  spoke  these  words,  he  stood  before  his 
daughter,  and  taking  both  her  hands,  gazed  intently  upon 
her  a  few  moments,  then  thoughtfully  continued : 

"  You  can  save  me  from  an  awful  death,  child.  You  can 
make  my  life,  which  has  been  a  burden  for  many  years,  from 
constant  fears,  peaceful  and  happy,  if,  by  love  or  money,  you 
3an  have  this  Indian  leader  arrested." 

Isabelle  did  not  understand  her  father  fully,  but  she  an 
swered  with  determination  — 

'•  I  will  save  you,  father,  and  I  know  the  Indian  can  be 
arrested.  Benjamin  will  seek  him,  and  he  has  the  promised 
aid  of  the  Indian  Agent." 

"  You  have  planned  well.  I'll  sign  these  papers,  and  you 
will  hasten,  to-morrow,  in  person,  to  present  them  to  the 
Governor.  Let  them  be  seen  by  no  one  else."  With  these 
words,  Conere  was  about  to  part  from  his  daughter,  when  she 
affectionately  said : 

"  What  had  you  to  do  with  this  Indian  white  man,  father? 
How  came  he  to  send  you  the  letter  ?  He  confesses  a 
knowledge  of  the  crime  of  murdering  Major  Bertram,  but 
he  does  not  confess  himself  the  murderer." 

"  But  he  was  the  murderer,"  interrupted  Conere.  "  YTou 
must  not  now  ask  me  what  I  had  to  do  with  him.  You  shall 
know  all,  another  time." 

"  There  are  many  things  I  wish  to  know,  father,  and  I 


60  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

have  heard  things  which,  when  I  think  of  them,  frighten 
me  ;  but  this  land  is  full  of  wicked  men,  and,  when  I  have 
saved  you,  we  will  leave  it." 

"  Yes,  daughter,  we  will  leave  it.  But  go  now — my  guard 
is  coming." 

"In  a  few  days,  Benjamin  shall  bring  you  word  that  I 
have  your  pardon."  Isabelle  took  tender  leave  of  her  father, 
and,  conducted  by  the  guard,  joined  Benjamin  in  the  outer 
court. 

When  Conere  was  alone,  he  soliloquized  — 

"  Yes,  we  will  leave  this  land.  Oh,  what  a  land  it  has 
been  to  me.  Why  did  I  have  a  family  ?  I  might  defy  them, 
but  all  must  be  deceived  now.  The  Americans  would  like 
to  get  this  Indian.  What  do  I  care  whether  he  is  Ilerpez 
or  not?  Prejudice  is  against  him.  I  can  invent  a  story 
that  will  fix  him — but  I  believe  it  is  him — if  it  is,  how  I  shall 
triumph  !  Espard  dead — Ilerpez  hung.  It  was  lucky  Isa 
belle  found  that  letter — but  when  she  showed  me  the  papers, 
I  thought  she  might  know  too  much.  She's  a  brave  girl, 
and  she'll  get  the  pardon.  I  shall  be  free — no  fear  of  man's 
tongue  shall  haunt  me  hereafter.  Would  that  Brinton  had 
stood  by  us.  I  rather  suspect  secrets  have  been  told  to  him  ; 
but  Benjamin  will  work  hard,  and  if  he  arrests  that  infernal 
Indian,  Isabelle  and  her  fortune — that  fortune  Espard  would 
have  had — shall  be  his.  I'll  wait — patiently,  if  I  can — to 
hear  from  him." 

Isabelle  Conere,  escorted  by  the  aspiring  doctor,  lost  no 
time  in  visiting  Tallahassee.  The  Governor  happened  to  be 
at  home.  She  waited  upon  him,  and  plead,  as  only  a  daugh 
ter  can,  for  the  life  of  a  father.  Her  papers  had  been  judi 
ciously  prepared,  and  when  she  laid  them  before  his  Excel- 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  61 

lency,  after  he  had  heard  her  story,  he  assured  her  that  he 
would  take  the  matter  into  immediate  consideration,  and  send 
word  of  his  determination,  at  her  hotel,  on  the  following 
evening. 

Tediously  dragged  the  hours,  until  the  period  appointed 
for  the  Governor's  report.  Isabelle  was  alone  in  her  room — 
she  paced  it  slowly,  and  as  the  dim  shadows,  thrown  in  gigan 
tic  shapes  from  her  person  by  a  flickering  lamp  that  sat  on  a 
low  stool,  flitted  to  and  fro,  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  them, 
and  exclaimed : 

"  Can  it  be  that  now  my  hopes  are  fleeting,  unsubstantial 
as  these  shadows — that  in  a  dim  light  I  have  been  groping, 
and  all  my  visions,  for  the  future,  are  but  dreams,  shadowy 
dreams  ?  If  it  prove  so.  I  shall  go  mad.  But  I  did  not 
plead  well  with  the  Governor,  perhaps.  I  told  him  my 
father  confessed  that  he  had  killed  the  man  Espard,  but  I 
knew  he  did  it  in  self-defense.  I  did  not  ask  a  pardon  out 
of  pity — my  father  wants  no  man's  pity — but  I  asked  it  be 
cause  he  could  render  the  government  valuable  aid.  I  de 
manded  it  as  the  price  of  service  rendered.  I  have  heard 
that  to  great  criminals  pardons  have  been  rendered,  for  tes 
timony  that  would  convict  greater  criminals.  The  Governor 
said  he  would  grant  the  pardon,  if  my  father  could  do  what 
he  promises — I  know  he  can — the  Governor  was  gracious  to 
me — the  pardon  will  come — hark  !  I  hear  a  summons  below 
— some  one  comes  up  the  stairs.  I  know  the  step — it  is 
Benjamin." 

The  almost  frantic  girl  hastened  to  the  door  of  her  room, 
hastily  opened  it,  and  met  the  doctor.  He  handed  her  a 
package  of  papers.  She  said  to  him: 


62  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

"  Leave  me  alone  for  an  hour,  Benjamin,  and  I  will  sum 
mon  you." 

As  he  retired,  she  threw  herself  upon  a  lounge,  and  nerv 
ously  broke  the  seal  of  the  papers.  A  letter  bearing  the 
Governor's  signet,  met  her  view ;  she  opened  it,  and  read  : 

"  MY  DEAR  MADAME  : — I  return  you  the  papers  which  you  entrusted  to 
me,  with  the  assurance  that  it  is  consistent  with  my  duty  to  the  nation,  and 
a  proper  regard  to  the  laws,  to  say  to  you,  under  my  official  seal,  that  your 
1'riends  shall  have  every  aid  I  can  render;  and  if  the  Indian  Hulkwa-nun- 
tokay  can  be  arrested,  and  your  father,  Cabot  Conere,  shall  present  before 
the  proper  tribunal,  such  evidence  as  will  convict  him  of  the  murder  of 
Major  Bertram,  an  unconditional  pardon  shall  be  granted  him. 

"  I  shall  countermand  the  order  fixing  the  execution  for  the  20th  inst. 

"  I  remain,  with  sentiments  of  high  respect,  your  obedient  servant, 


"  Governor  of  the  Territory  of  Florida." 

When  Isabelle  had  read  this  letter,  without  stopping  a  mo 
ment  for  reflection,  she  summoned  Benjamin,  acquainted  him 
with  the  purport  of  the  Governor's  communication,  and  said 
to  him: 

"All  rests  with  you  now,  Benjamin — you  have  a  danger 
ous  task,  but  you  chose  it  without  solicitation.  The  Governor 
will  order  men  to  escort  you.  I  will  leave  you  here  to-morrow. 
Proceed  immediately  to  arrest  this  Indian — you  must  accom 
plish  it  by  stratagem.  Take  trusty  guides  and  brave  men. 
Bring  him  to  Tallahassee,  and  when  the  trial  is  had,  this  hand 
is  yours.  I  will  carry  the  news  of  pardon  to  father,  myself." 

Benjamin  kissed  the  hand  she  offered  him,  and  vowed  that 
he  would  never  return  to  St.  Augustine  alive  without  Ilulkwa- 
nuntokay. 

On  the  morrow,  the  doctor  prepared  to  visit  the  cypress 
swamps,  and  Isabelle  returned  to  Eillwood  in  company  with 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  63 

a  party  of  Augustine  acquaintances.  They  little  suspected 
the  object  of  her  visit  to  Tallahassee. 

At  the  earliest  possible  hour,  Conere  had  the  privilege  of 
reading  the  letter,  securing  him  pardon,  on  the  conditions  we 
have  described.  Loading  his  daughter  with  thanks  and  ca 
resses,  he  assured  her,  that  on  the  day  of  trial  he  should 
vindicate  himself. 

lie  was  a  dark  minded  and  dangerously  deceitful  man. 
His  daughter  loved  him  too  blindly  to  understand  his  true 
character. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE  ARREST  AND  THE  DISCOVERY. 

DOCTOR  BENJAMIN,  -with  a  faithful  escort  and  experienced 
guides,  had  journeyed  three  days  from  Tallahassee.  He  be 
gan  seriously  to  reflect,  that  following  Indian  trails,  through 
swamps  and  thick  woods,  was  not  as  pleasant  as  rolling  pills 
in  St.  Augustine.  It  was  not  the  way  he  proposed  walking 
to  distinction  in  this  world.  In  his  solitary  hours  he  grew 
desponding  many  times,  but  love  and  fortune  cheered  him 
on,  and  before  his  men  he  maintained  a  brave  exterior. 

From  a  friendly  Indian,  the  commander  of  the  escort  had 
learned  that  Hulkwa-nuntokay,  as  the  leader  of  a  small  party 
of  Mickasukie  Indians,  had  a  camp  near  the  southern  boun 
dary  of  the  Big  Cypress  swamp,  which  was  subsequently  the 
rendezvous  of  many  parties  of  hostile  savages,  who  retreated 
thither  during  the  Seminole  war,  and  defied  the  American 
soldiers. 

Hulkwa-nuntokay's  band  had  been  in  the  practice  of  ma 
rauding  on  the  weaker  planters  along  the  rivers,  and  in  the 
smaller  towns ;  and  the  chief,  as  he  was  considered,  was 
much  feared  as  a  daring  and  blood-thirsty  savage.  He  had 
no  regular  connection  with  any  band  of  Indians,  and  it  was 
well  understood  that  the  only  way  to  entrap  him  would  be 

(64) 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  65 

by  stratagem.  The  doctor  was  directed  by  a  party  of  six 
men,  besides  the  guides  and  three  friendly  Indians,  who 
knew  the  country,  and  the  dangers  they  might  expect  to  en 
counter. 

Herpez  was  one  of  those  singular,  misanthropic  men,  who 
appear  to  despise  comfort,  and  delight  in  crime — who  exile 
themselves  from  society,  and  seek  the  deep  forest.  He  had 
been  in  Florida,  under  different  names,  many  years ;  and, 
from  threats  which  he  had  thrown  out,  it  was  suspected  that 
he  had  been  always  a  foe  to  the  Americans  ;  and,  from  expres 
sions  that  had  escaped  him  while  at  one  time  in  St.  Augustine, 
it  was  surmised  that  he  had  in  his  possession  important  secrets. 
These  things  were  known  to  the  Governor,  and  for  this  rea 
son  he  readily  believed  Cabot  Conere's  story,  and  promised 
him  pardon,  on  the  conviction  of  the  Indian  Spaniard.  There 
was  no  Indian  blood  in  his  veins,  but  he  had  so  long  followed 
the  habits  of  the  red  man,  and  worn  his  costume,  that,  except 
by  the  few  who  knew  his  history,  he  was  supposed  to  be  a 
Seminole,  as  his  name  indicated,  giving,  at  the  same  time, 
his  character,  Hulkwa-nuntokay,  as  intimated  by  Conere,  in 
his  conversation  with  Isabelle,  signifying  bad  man.  Herpez 
was  a  man  of  great  muscular  power  and  agility,  and  a  re 
nowned  marksman.  His  men  were  desperate  Indians,  who 
had  scattered  from  different  parties  of  that  tribe,  who,  ac 
cording  to  Indian  tradition,  murdered  the  first  white  man 
that  was  ever  seen  in  Florida,  believing  him  to  have  sprung 
from  the  foam  of  the  ocean,  thrown  upon  the  beach.  They 
discovered  his  trail  on  the  shore  of  Lake  Okeechobee,  and, 
struck  by  the  peculiar  print  of  his  shoe,  followed  it  until 
they  overtook  him,  and  were  led,  by  their  natural  thirst  for 
blood,  to  take  his  life,  though  he  besought  peace. 
5 


66  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

When  the  party  approached  the  swamp,  they  were  very 
nearly  surprised  by  a  band  of  Creek  Indians,  and  this  ad 
monished  them  to  proceed  watchfully,  taking  every  precau 
tion  not  to  alarm  the  enemy. 

One  night,  when  the  escort  was  encamped  on  the  border 
of  a  pond  covered  with  water-lilies,  and  from  which  pro 
ceeded  the  bellowing  of  alligators,  so  loudly  as  to  interfere, 
very  uncomfortably,  with  Doctor  Benjamin's  design  of  hav 
ing  a  good  night's  rest,  after  a  hard  day's  march,  one  of  the 
Indian  scouts,  who  had  been  sent  out  in  the  afternoon,  re 
turned  with  a  pony,  which,  he  declared,  belonged  to  the 
Indians  they  were  seeking.  He  had  taken  the  animal  near 
a  settlement,  at  which,  he  believed,  the  band  was  now 
gathered. 

On  the  following  morning,  various  plans  were  proposed  for 
the  capture,  and  much  speculation  was  had  on  the  most  fea 
sible  methods  ;  but  at  length  it  was  decided  that  they  should 
first  ascertain  if  Hulkwa-nuntokay  was  at  the  settlement  — 
if  so,  they  would  that  night  attack  it  from  various  quarters, 
awe  the  Indians  by  surprise,  disperse  them,  and  so  guard 
Herpez's  hut  that  escape  would  be  impossible.  Dr.  Benja 
min  had  command  of  the  squad  that  was  to  be  relied  upon 
to  make  the  capture.  There  was  but  one  man  in  the  party 
who  could  identify  Herpez,  or  Hulkwa-nuntokay.  In  the 
afternoon,  he  reported  that  he  had  seen  the  victim,  and  knew 
which  was  his  hut. 

The  settlement  was  hid  by  tenebrous  boughs  and  trailing 
mosses,  in  a  dense  cypress  hammock.  The  attack  was  so 
well  planned,  and  so  cautiously  managed,  that  the  Indians 
were  completely  surprised,  but  they  fought  with  desperation. 
Three  men  belonging  to  the  escort  were  killed,  and  several 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  67 

received  severe  wounds.  How  many  of  the  Mickasukies 
were  slain,  could  not  be  ascertained.  One  of  the  men  be 
longing  to  the  escort  was  killed  by  a  blow  from  the  knife  of 
Hulkwa-nuntokay.  When  the  war-cry  was  given,  the  chief 
sprang  to  the  door  of  his  hut,  and  was  met  by  the  Indian 
guide,  who  gave  a  concerted  signal,  and  attacked  him. 
The  chief  was  too  skillful  and  muscular  a  warrior  for  his  foe, 
who  fell  at  his  feet  before  assistance  reached  him,  but  Ben 
jamin  and  his  men  were  near  at  hand,  and  closing  around 
the  chief,  they  soon  overmastered  him,  although  he  fought 
desperately  with  his  knife,  wounding  a  number,  and  among 
them  the  doctor. 

As  soon  as  the  party  could  be  rallied,  after  the  defeat  of 
the  Indians,  it  was  decided  that  rapid  flight  from  the  scene 
of  the  battle,  was  the  policy  they  should  adopt.  They  pro 
ceeded  through  the  swamp  in  hasty  marches,  without  moles 
tation,  except  from  a  small  band  of  Spanish  Indians,  who 
were  soon  routed.  The  second  day  they  struck  the  trail 
for  Tallahassee.  About  the  time  they  began  to  fear  pursuit, 
fortunately  they  fell  in  with  a  party  of  friendly  Indians,  who 
had  been  at  war  with  the  Mickasukies,  and  rejoiced  to  see 
their  terror,  Hulkawa-nuntokay,  a  prisoner.  They  now  ad 
vanced  in  more  easy  marches,  and  allowed  the  men  to  re 
cruit. 

Herpez  had  maintained  a  dogged  silence,  and  did  not  yet 
know  that  he  had  been  taken  prisoner  on  a  particular  charge. 
He  supposed  his  numerous  depredations  on  the  whites,  to 
have  instigated  the  attack  on  his  men.  He  knew  his  fate 
under  such  circumstances,  and  was  prepared  to  meet  it  with 
Indian  fortitude.  Benjamin  endeavored,  several  times,  to 


68  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

engage  him  in  conversation,  without  success,  until  one  even 
ing,  when  he  stood  by  him  in  the  camp,  he  said: 

"Herpez!" 

And  at  this  sound,  one  which  he  had  not  heard  for  years, 
and  which  sent  a  torrent  of  wild  thoughts  through  his  brain, 
the  disguised  Indian  started  to  his  feet,  and  gave  the  doctor 
a  look  that  caused  him  to  step  back  a  pace,  but  he  continued, 

"  Did  you  ever  know  or  hear  of  a  Major  Bertram,  mur 
dered  some  years  ago,  near  Pensacola?" 

"  Who  are  you,  that  calls  me  this  name,  and  asks  me  these 
questions  ?  "  demanded  Herpez  authoritatively. 

"  I  am  known  as  Doctor  Benjamin,  of  St.  Augustine — but 
you  have  not  answered  me." 

"  You  have  no  business  to  question  me.  It's  none  of  your 
business  what  I  know,  but  I'll  answer  you.  I  did  know  Ma 
jor  or  Lieutenant  Bertram,  and  I  know  who  murdered  him, 
but  the  United  States  shall  never  know.  The  inquisitors 
could  not  make  me  tell." 

"  It  is  not  expected  that  you  will  tell — but  I  am  surprised 
to  hear  an  Indian  speak  so  good  English,"  returned  the  doc 
tor,  provokingly.  He  could  not  move  the  Spaniard,  who 
said,  coolly : 

"  I  followed  another  life  than  this,  once — but  what  has  my 
arrest  to  do  with  Major  Bertram  ? " 

"  You  shall  know  when  we  reach  Tallahassee,"  answered 
the  doctor,  and  the  conversation  was  closed  by  the  appear 
ance  of  the  commander  of  the  escort,  who  had  a  duty  for 
the  doctor  to  perform,  in  the  care  of  one  of  the  wounded 
men,  who  had  not  yet  recovered.  Herpez  held  no  more 
conversation  with  any  of  the  party  during  the  journey. 
When  he  was  lodged  safely  at  the  capital,  he  was  fully  ac- 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  69 

quainted  with  the  charge  against  him,  and  was  ordered  to 
prepare  for  his  trial,  which  had  been  set  for  the  following 
week.  When  inquired  of  if  he  desired  counsel,  he  asked: 

"What  for?" 

"  To  defend  you,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Defend  me  ?  The  devil  could  only  do  that.  I'll  have 
no  defense.  The  Americans  are  determined  to  kill  me — let 
them  do  it  by  hanging.  A  hundred  lives  shall  pay  the  forfeit 
of  mine.  My  Indians  will  avenge  their  chief — they  will 
burn  dwellings  and  pillage  towns.  But  who  is  my  accuser?" 

"  Cabot  Conere,  of  Rillwood,  who  is  in  the  fort  at  St. 
Augustine,  for  the  murder  of  one  Espard,"  answered  the 
civil  officer,  who  had  visited  him  to  learn  his  wishes  in  regard 
to  counsel,  for  it  had  become  known  that  he  was  far  from 
being  an  Indian  in  early,  if  he  had  been  in  late  education. 
•  "  Cabot  Conere,  of  Rillwood,"  said  Herpez — "  I  knew 
him  once  by  a  name  not  quite  as  high  sounding.  He  killed 
Espard ;  to  get  his  neck  out  of  a  halter,  he  would  kill  me. 
Well,  if  he  chooses,  he  can  do  so — I  shall  be  legally  mur 
dered,  for  if  he  could  not  make  me  guilty  of  this  murder,  he 
could  tell  enough  against  me  besides  to  hang  a  small  army — 
but  my  men  shall  have  word,  and  they  shall  avenge  my  blood 
terribly." 

The  day  appointed  for  the  trial  of  Herpez  would  dawn  on 
jihe  morrow.  Cabot  Conere,  released  from  his  casemate  at 
Castle  Marco,  but  under  a  watchful  guard,  was  at  Tallahas 
see,  with  his  daughter,  in  quarters  where  he  was  less  con 
strained  than  he  had  been  for  a  few  months  past.  Squire 
Lifty  was  his  adviser,  and  was  to  aid  the  Government  in  the 
prosecution  of  Herpez.  Conere  had  so  prepared  himself, 
that  he  had  no  fear  of  the  result  of  the  trial. 


70  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

In  company  with  a  number  of  friends,  Ledyard  Brinton 
journeyed  from  Augustine  to  Tallahassee.  They  expected 
to  reach  the  capital  on  the  evening  before  the  trial.  It  was 
late  in  the  afternoon.  Brinton,  reflecting  on  the  causes 
which  had  led  him  to  Tallahassee — on  the  probable  result  of 
Conere's  release — on  Doctor  Benjamin's  hopes — was  in  no 
mood  for  gay  company,  and  had  fallen  some  rods  behind  his 
party.  He  knew  that  Isabelle  did  not  love  the  doctor — 
knew  that  she  was  sacrificing  herself  for  his  aid  in  the  rescue 
of  her  father,  because  her  old  lover  had  disappointed  her  in 
his  honest  expression  that  there  was  no  hope  of  honorable 
release  for  Conere.  Had  Brinton  entertained  a  suspicion  of 
the  course  events  had  taken,  no  man  could  or  would  eagerly 
have  done  more  than  he  to  bring  to  justice  the  murderer  of 
Bertram,  and  rescue  Conere ;  but  the  accident,  that  gave 
Isabelle  the  knowledge  upon  which  she  had  acted,  came 
when  he  was  estranged,  and  no  opportunity  had  been  given 
him  to  lend  his  aid  or  influence.  Such  reflections  engaging 
him,  he  rode  without  perceiving  how  far  his  companions  were 
in  advance,  when,  as  he  passed  a  grove  of  undergrowth 
orange  trees,  a  man  in  Indian  garb,  "armed  to  the  teeth," 
sprang  from  a  cluinp  of  bushes  at  the  road-side,  and,  before 
Brinton  saw  his  intention,  grasped  his  horse  by  the  bridle- 
bits,  and  exclaimed  in  good  English: 

"  Ledyard  Brinton,  I  have  business  with  you." 
Brinton  was  unarmed,  excepting  a  brace  of  pocket  pistols, 
and  he  knew  resistance  at  this  time  would  be  vain.     Though 

O 

staggered  at  the  man's  strange  and  violent  salutation,  he  did 
not  lose  his  presence  of  mind,  but  answered  promptly: 

"  You  have  chosen  a  novel  manner  of  introducing  your 
self.  Perhaps  your  business  is  with  my  purse." 


The   Everglade   Heroes.  71 

"  D n  your  money,"  answered  the  outlaw.  "  I  have 

a  bigger  scheme  than  taking  money,  on  hand,  and  you  must 
help  me  work  it." 

"  Must  "said.  Brinton,  "  then  you  possess  more  power  than 
I  think  you  do ;  but  I  have  no  time  to  bandy  words.  What 
is  your  business  ?  " 

"  You  are  going  to  Tallahassee  to  see  one  Herpez  tried  for 
a  murder  that  took  place  some  years  ago." 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  " 

"  No  matter.  This  Herpez  was  taken  on  the  information 
of  Cabot  Conere,  who  would  get  his  neck  out  of  a  halter  for 
the  murder  of  one  Espard.  Conere  has  a  daughter — you 
love  her." 

"  Are  you  a  wizard  ?  "  thought  Brinton,  aloud. 

u  Not  quite — nor  an  Indian,  as  you  may  be  convinced,  but 
a  Spaniard,  who  knows  all  about  both  these  murders — who 
knows  that  Herpez  did  not  kill  Major  Bertram,  and  that 
Conere  stabbed  Espard  in  self-defense." 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  doing  with  this  information?" 
said  Brinton. 

"  If  you  will  help  me,  I  mean  to  show  who  the  murderer 
of  Major  Bertram  was,  and  clear  Conere  and  Herpez  from 
the  charges  against  them." 

"  Can  I  trust  you  ?  " 

"  It  can  do  no  harm  to  try  me." 

"  And  what  do  you  expect  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Take  this  piece  of  coin,"  answered  the  Spaniard,  giving 
Brinton  an  old  Spanish  dollar,  on  which  were  stamped  the 
letters  "  E.  H."  "Go  to  the  place  where  Herpez  is  confined, 
give  it  to  him,  tell  him  you  got  it  from  Don  B.,  -who  will  be 


72  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

in  court  to-morrow,  and  you  must  be  his  counsel — you  are  a 
lawyer." 

"  I  cannot  appear  against  Conere." 

"  Not  to  save  him,  and  rescue  his  name  from  infamy  ?  " 

"  But  I  have  my  suspicions  that  all  is  not  right.  Why  do 
you  tell  these  things  to  me  ?  Why  do  you  not  let  the  Gov 
ernment  know  them  ?  " 

"  Because  I  do  not  choose  to.  I  alone  have  the  informa 
tion  that  will  make  all  right.  I  chose  to  make  it  known  in 
court  to-morrow,  through  you.  If  you  will  not  aid  me,  Iler- 
pez  will  suffer  for  a  crime  he  is  not  guilty  of,  and  Conere 
will  be  forever  cursed  as  a  murderer." 

"  Does  not  Conere  think  Herpez  the  murderer  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  what  Conere  thinks  ?  But  will  you  aid 
me?" 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  in  court  ?  " 

"  The  trial  must  not  be  had,"  answered  the  Spaniard. 
"  When  all  is  ready  for  the  witnesses,  I  want  you  to  say  to 
the  court  that  there  is  a  man  present  who  can  clear  up  all 
the  mystery  about  these  murders,  and  give  positive  testimony 
as  to  who  the  murderer  of  Bertram  was,  as  well  as  show  that 
Conere  is  not  a  murderer.  Will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  fear  it  is  a  mad  proceeding,  but  I  will  take  the  risk." 

"  You  are  a  man  of  honor,  Ledyard  Brinton.  You  will 
see  me  beside  the  prisoner  to-morrow." 

The  Spaniard  darted  into  the  bushes,  and  was  out  of  sight 
in  a  moment. 

Brinton,  called  to  himself  by  the  deepening  twilight  that 
had  began  to  gather  while  he  parleyed  with  the  Spaniard, 
spurred  his  horse,  and,  with  indescribable  emotions,  galloped 
swiftly  towards  the  capital.  When  he  had  proceeded  a  few 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  73 

miles,  he  met  two  of  his  traveling  companions  returning  to 
seek  him,  having  become  alarmed  at  his  absence.  They  in 
quired  anxiously  as  to  the  cause  of  his  detention,  but  he  gave 
them  no  satisfactory  answers. 

When  he  reached  Tallahassee,  after  calling  on  Isabella  to 
congratulate  her  on  the  expected  happy  events  of  the  morrow, 
he  lost  no  time  in  seeking  Herpez's  place  of  confinement. 
When  he  announced  himself  as  counsel  for  the  prisoner,  he 
was  admitted  without  delay,  and  the  guard  informed  Herpez 
that  his  lawyer  wished  to  see  him. 

"  I  want  no  lawyer,"  was  his  dogged  answer ;  but  Brinton, 
not  to  be  daunted,  walked  into  the  cell,  when  the  wicked 
man  looked  up  and  exclaimed: 

"  Damnation  take  the  man  who  would  force  himself  on  me, 
to  learn  my  secrets  !  " 

"You  mistake  me,  sir,"  said  Brinton,  mildly;  "I  had 
that  from  a  man  who  wished  me  to  see  you  to-night,"  hand 
ing  him  the  stamped  dollar. 

"  Great  God  !  Where  is  he  ?  "  cried  the  prisoner,  wildly, 
"  and  who  are  you? " 

"  My  name  is  Ledyard  Brinton.  I  promised  Don  B.,  as 
he  called  himself,  that  I  would  appear  in  your  behalf  to 
morrow." 

"  I  don't  want  you  without  him.     Will  he  be  there  ?  " 

"  He  declared  that  he  would." 

"  He'll  do  it — he'll  do  it.  We  may  die,  but  not  unaveng 
ed,"  said  Herpez,  clenching  his  fists  and  grinding  his  teeth. 

"  Why  this  rage?  "  said  Brinton. 

"  You  look  like  an  honest  man,  but  my  experience  has 
taught  me  to  trust  no  man.  I  could  tell  you  secrets — you 
would  then  understand  my  rage ;  but  I  won't  tell  you. 


74  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

You'll   hear  them  at  the  trial.     You  will  give  Don  B.  a 
chance,  at  court,  in  my  behalf." 

"  I  have  so  promised,  but  I  fear  it  was  done  rashly." 
"  Not  so — you  will  expose  great  villains.     But  I  would 
think  alone.     My  thoughts  must  be  spoken,  and  no  man  shall 
hear  them." 

Brinton  retired,  and  walked  to  his  hotel  in  great  perplex 
ity,  but  determined,  at  all  hazard,  to  fulfill  the  promises  he 
had  made,  and  wait  patiently  for  the  morrow  to  solve  the 
singular  mystery  which  seemed  to  hang  around  the  prisoner, 
arid  the  man  who  had  stopped  him  on  the  Augustine  road. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE  TRIAL. 

AT  the  opening  of  the  Seminole  war,  Tallahassee  had  be 
come  a  town  of  considerable  importance,  although  the  first 
house  was  erected  as  late  as  the  spring  of  1824.  A  hand 
some  building  for  the  capitol  was  nearly  completed — various 
religious  societies  had  been  established,  and  other  associa 
tions,  calculated  to  give  the  city  importance,  were  rapidly 
progressing.  During  the  winter  of  which  we  write,  a  re 
spectable  body  of  troops  was  quartered  near  it,  and  as  the 
Legislative  Council  was  to  sit  in  a  few  days,  the  regular 
population  had  been  much  increased  about  the  time  fixed  for 
the  trial  of  Hulkwa-nuntokay. 

Major  Bertram  had  been  generally  respected  in  the  army, 
and  a  number  of  officers  at  Tallahassee  remembered  him  as  a 
brave  soldier  and  a  true  friend,  although,  in  youth,  he  had 
sustained  an  unenviable  character  for  intrigue,  as  the  French 
use  this  word.  His  death  and  the  Government  robbery  had 
been  talked  about  a  great  deal,  and  much  speculation  had 
been  indulged  in  regard  to  the  Everglade  Heroes.  To  fer 
ret  them  out,  had  long  been  a  strife  among  the  civil  as  well 
as  military  officers  of  the  Territory ;  but  prior  to  Isabella 
Conere's  appeal  before  the  Governor,  no  reliable  information 

(75) 


76  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

had  ever  been  received  in  regard  to  any  one  of  them.  It 
was  generally  supposed  that  Herpez  must  have  been  an  im 
portant  man  among  the  Heroes,  and  a  general  exposure  of 
the  band,  and  their  operations,  being  expected  through  the 
investigations  at  his  trial,  it  had  awakened  intense  excitement 
throughout  the  city  and  adjacent  settlements. 

On  the  morning  appointed  for  the  commencement  of  the 
investigation,  the  building,  in  which  the  court,  was  held  was 
completely  crowded  with  a  body  of  men  of  varied  grades 
and  stamp,  all  eager  to  hear  the  details  of  the  secret  and 
terrible  crimes. 

Conere,  with  Isabelle  by  his  side,  sat  within  the  bar,  near 
Squire  Lifty.  Brinton  occupied  an  obscure  seat  at  the  foot 
of  a  long  table,  on  which  lawyers'  books  were  so  piled  as  to 
exclude  him  entirely  from  Isabelle's  view.  He  was  not  yet 
prepared  to  be  known  in  the  case,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  be 
observed  by  Conere  or  his  daughter  until  he  knew  surely 
whether  Don  B.  would  make  his  appearance. 

The  prisoner  bore  himself  like  a  man  who  had  no  concern 
in  what  agitated  the  mass  about  him.  Excepting  a  peculiar 
compression  of  the  lip,  there  was  nothing  to  be  remarked 
upon  in  the  expression  of  his  countenance.  He  endeavored 
many  times  to  catch  Conere's  eye,  but  the  witness  had  no 
intention  that  he  should  do  so,  and  his  gaze  was  directed 
everywhere  but  toward  the  prisoner. 

Conere  was  not  the  same  hale  man  who  had  left  Rillwood 
on  the  day  of  the  fatal  meeting.  Reminiscence  and  reflec 
tion,  in  confinement,  had  changed  him  much,  but  had  served 
only  to  increase  that  peculiarity  of  look,  which  seemed  ever 
to  regard  all  on  whom  it  rested,  with  suspicion.  His  bearing 
was  that  of  a  man  who  fears  that  every  gesture,  each  change 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  77 

of  position,  every  direction  of  his  eye,  or  quiver  of  his  lip, 
may  militate  against  him  in  a  cause  wherein  he  has  deep 
interest. 

When  the  formalities  of  the  court  had  been  observed, 

.  Squire  Lifty  stated  briefly  what  the  prosecution  expected  to 

accomplish  through  the  witness  Conere,  with  corroborating 

testimony  that  he  had  directed,  and  proposed  that  the  oath 

be  administered  to  him. 

Ledyard  Brinton  now  arose,  and  appearing  from  behind 
the  legal  shield  that  had  protected  him  as  he  desired,  while 
Isabelle  was  amazed  and  alarmed,  and  Conere  fixed  on  him 
a  most  crushing  look,  remarked  : 

"  May  it  please  the  court,  I  appear  as  counsel  for  the 
prisoner.  I  am  prepared  to  show  that  he  is  not  guilty  of 
the  crime  charged.  It  is  a  proceeding  without  precedent, 
but  as  the  circumstances  are  peculiar,  and  as  there  is  now 
within  this  court  room  a  man  who  can  not  only  clear  the  pris 
oner  at  the  bar,  but  show  that  Cabot  Conere  is  not  guilty  of 
the  crime  for  which  he  has  been  condemned,  and  point  out 
also,  clearly,  the  true  murderer  of  Major  Bertram,  I  move  you 
that  he  be  now  heard." 

There  was  a  sensation  produced  by  this  speech,  throughout 
the  court  room,  that  cannot  be  described.  A  strange  fire 
glowed  in  the  prisoner's  eye.  Cabot  Conere's  countenance 
was  "  ashen  and  sober  "  as  the  sky  of  a  damp  morning  ere 
sunrise,  and  Isabelle,  from  some  unaccountable  dread,  was 
as  pallid  as  if  her  life  had  suddenly  gone  out. 

The  judge  said : 

"  This  is  a  remarkable  announcement,  Mr.  Brinton.  Let 
the  witness  be  called ;  we  shall  then  determine  whether  to 
hear  him  at  this  stage  of  the  trial." 


78  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

A  tall  man,  painted  and  dressed  as  a  Seminole  Indian, 
appeared  on  the  witness  stand. 

"  Is  it  an  Indian  you  would  thus  informally  introduce  ?  " 
demanded  Squire  Lifty,  prompted  by  Doctor  Benjamin,  who 
sat  trembling  at  his  side. 

"  Ask  him,"  replied  Brinton,  quietly. 

"Your  name,  sir?"  demanded  the  clerk  of  the  court, 
while  the  spectators  were  crowding,  deeply  excited,  around 
the  bar  and  the  prisoner's  box. 

"  The  Indians  call  me  Chitta,  or  Snake — but  I  was  not 
known  by  this  title,  when,  many  months  ago,  I  was  carried 
out  of  St.  Augustine  to  be  buried." 

"  Explain,  sir ! "  cried  the  presiding  judge.  Conere  start 
ed  to  his  feet,  and  would  have  advanced  toward  the  Indian, 
had  not  Isabelle  clung  to  him. 

"  More  than  a  year  ago,"  said  the  Indian,  speaking  as 
good  English  as  most  men  do,  "  I  was  engaged  in  a  fight  in 
a  cafe  in  St.  Augustine.  I  was  stabbed,  and  left  for  dead. 
Some  friends  conveyed  me  to  a  dwelling,  and  when  all  had 
abandoned  me,  a  trusty  servant  prepared  to  give  me  a  burial. 
He  discovered  signs  of  life,  and  using  what  restoratives  he 
could  command,  I  became  enabled  to  speak.  I  told  him  I 
wished  terrible  revenge  on  my  opponent — begged  him  to  re 
move  me  secretly  where  he  could  take  care  of  me,  but  let  no 
one  know  that  I  had  not  been  buried.  The  plot  succeeded. 
I  recovered.  Tfie  servant  died  a  few  days  after  1  was  able 
to  dispense  with  his  care,  and  my  secret  was  safe.  My  mur 
derer  was  tried  and  condemned.  I  have  been  an  Indian 
since.  Before,  I  was  known  as  Manuel  Espard,  and  Cabot 
Conere  was  my  murderer." 

At  these  words,  Isabelle  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  and 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  79 

Conere  sank  powerless  on  the  seat  from  which  he  had  risen 
when  the  witness  began  to  speak. 

"  This  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  cause  in  question,"  said 
the  prosecutor. 

"  I  come  to  it,"  returned  Espard.  "  The  captain  of  the 
Everglade  Heroes  murdered  Major  Bertram  ;  the  band  shared 
the  Government  money.  They  are  all  now  in  this  court 
room.  The  hour  has  come — -justice  shall  be  done.  That 
band,  terrible  in  all  this  country,  consisted  of  but  three  men. 
Here  are  the  men — the  prisoner  and  the  tvitness.  There  is 
the  CAPTAIN  !  "  He  made  a  significant  gesture.  All  eyes 
were  fixed  in  the  direction  Espard  pointed.  The  report  of 
a  pistol  rang  through  the  court  room.  Cabot  Conere  fell 
dead  upon  the  floor — a  groan  of  agony  was  heard,  and  Doc 
tor  Benjamin  weltered  in  his  blood.  All  was  consternation 
for  a  moment,  and  then  the  cry  went  up: 

"  The  Indians  have  escaped?  " 

Espard  had  shot  Conere — Herpez  had  stabbed  Benjamin  ; 
and  then  they  sped  like  lightning,  while  attention  was  direct 
ed  to  their  victims. 

Isabelle  Conere  had  swooned — attention  was  given  her  by 
her  immediate  friends,  while  numbers  went  in  pursuit  of  the 
murderers.  They  had  some  distance  the  start,  and  were  fleet 
runners*.  As  they  approached  the  stream  that  winds  along 
the  eastern  border  of  the  city,  many  musket  balls  whistled 
after  them,  but  none  reached  the  mark.  The  "  Heroes  " 
soon  disappeared  where  the  stream  leaps  into  a  gulf,  whence, 
taking  the  woods,  their  pursuers  were  baffled.  But  "  the 
race  is  not  always  to  the  swift."  A  few  hours  after  these 
wicked  men  leaped  from  the  court  room  at  Tallahassee,  as 
tney  skulked  through  the  forest,  a  company  of  soldiers,  re- 


80  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

turning  from  a  hunting  party,  taking  them  to  be  marauding 
Indians,  fired  upon  them,  and  both  fell  mortally  wounded. 
Herpez  never  spoke,  but  Espard,  as  he  writhed  on  the  ground, 
cried  out: 

"  Tell  the  people  of  Tallahassee  you  have  finished  the  Ev 
erglade  Heroes." 

Thus  perished  three  men,  whose  lives  had  been  eventful 
of  terror  and  bloodshed — who  had  been  hardened  in  crime 
— who  had  amassed  fortunes  in  the  shedding  of  innocent 
blood — who  had  followed  chosen  pursuits  many  years  unsus 
pected,  but  upon  whom,  at  length,  as  upon  all  the  unrepent 
ant  wicked,  sooner  or  later,  it  must  come,  fell  retributive 
justice ;  and  society  was  avenged,  as  far  as  their  death  could 
atone  for  their  infamous  lives. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

DESOLATION  AT  RILLWOOD. 

THE  season  when  "  bursting  buds  look  up  "  had  returned 
again,  but  it  was  that  spring  time  succeeding  the  coldest 
winter  ever  known  in  East  Florida,  and  the  vernal  ray  had 
no  power  to  call  the  groves  or  the  gardens  from  gloom.  In 
the  last  winter  month,  a  "withering  frost"  threw  over  the 
rivers  and  lakes  a  thin  curtain  of  ice — affording  a  most  novel 
spectacle  for  that  tropical  clime — and  beneath  the  cutting 
influence  of  a  driving  northwest  wind,  the  fruit  trees  were 
stripped  of  their  foliage,  and  their  life-currents  so  congealed 
that  a  midsummer  sun  shone  powerless  on  leafless  branches. 
The  groves  and  gardens  of  Rillwood  were  as  desolate  as  the 
heart  of  its  mistress — drear  as  a  Siberian  forest.  Where 
beautiful  flowers  had  attracted  the  humming-bird  and  the 
bee,  rising  from  terrace  and  lawn,  were  strewn  withered 
stalks  and  sere  leaves  ;  and  where  had  hung  clustering  boughs 
of  dark  and  golden  fruit,  beneath  whose  shade  and  from 
whose  fragrance  lovers  imbibed  pleasure,  and  invalids  drank 
in  strength,  unsightly  poles,  with  rugged  bark,  were  seen. 
Where  the  red-bird  built  his  nest — the  mocking-bird  sung 
his  ever  changeful  notes,  and  the  gay-plumaged  paraquet  had 
caroled  and  flitted,  the  melancholy  owl  "  greeted  the  moon 
6  (81) 


82  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

with  demoniac  laughter,*'  while  sterile  winds  whistled  around 
him. 

In  keeping  with  the  unusual  season  had  been  the  life  of 
Isabelle  Conere.  For  many  weeks  after  the  death  of  her 
father,  she  raved  in  a  delirious  fever,  and  it  was  months  be 
fore  she  left  her  room.  When,  late  in  the  spring,  she  walked 
through  the  paths  of  Rillwood,  saw  the  ravages  of  winter  as 
she  had  never  before  witnessed  them,  and  thought  of  the 
struggles  nature  was  everywhere  making  to  recover  from  her 
forbidding  aspect,  a  lesson  of  resignation  was  taught  her ; 
but  she  could  not  feel  otherwise  than  that  the  snows  of  sor 
row  that  had  fallen  on  her  heart,  had  left  it  as  the  frosts  of 
the  winter  had  left  the  tenderest  fruit  trees,  never  to  have 
life  and  beauty  again,  that  would  be  sweet  to  look  in  upon, 
imparting  joy  to  others. 

She  had  but  one  token  of  her  father,  which,  in  connection 
with  his  dreadful  death,  left  her  the  slightest  consolation. 
That  was  a  letter,  found  on  his  person  by  those  who  prepared 
the  body  for  the  tomb : 

" MY  DEAR  DAUGHTER: — When  you  get  this  note,  your  father  will  be  be 
yond  the  reach  of  human  laws  or  enemies.  I  formed  a  determination  when 
I  was  first  arrested,  that  I  should  never  go  upon  the  gallows,  let  what  would 
be  the  result  of  my  trial ;  and  when  your  project  for  my  deliverance  was 
about  to  succeed,  I  had  no  reason  to  change  a  determination  that  would 
quiet  fears  with  which,  to  me,  this  world  is  filled.  A  fatal  poison,  known 
to  the  Indians,  I  have  long  kept  secretly  upon  my  person,  has  done  its 
work. 

"  My  life  has  been  almost  one  continued  deceit.  I  cannot  die  without 
making  a  frank  confession  to  you  of  all  the  circumstances  which  rendered 
me  a  villain — for  when  I  was  young  I  was  not  more  wicked  than  other 
men. 

"  I  was  the  captain  of  the  '  Everglade  Heroes,'  and  I  murdered  Major 
Bertram.  I  was  at  one  time  a  soldier  under  him.  He  became  acquainted 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  83 

with  my  sister — made  honorable  proposals  to  her,  and  seduced  her.  I  chal 
lenged  him  to  meet  me.  He  spurned  me — struck  me.  I  returned  the  blow, 
and  deserted,  to  escape  court  martial.  I  vowed  revenge  ;  I  took  that  re 
venge  ;  but  not  until  I  had  long  been  an  outlaw,  associated  with  men  whom 
I  could  only  trust  in  villainy.  But  what  led  to  the  circumstances  which 
impelled  me  to  revenge?  what  made  me  then  associate  with  outlaws?  I 
answer  with  the  deepest  contrition — love  for  a  social  glass  of  wine,  which 
grew  to  be  a  passion  for  strong  drink. 

"My  acquaintance  with  Major  Bertram  was  formed  at  drinking  parties  in 
our  camp.  When  intoxicated,  I  introduced  him  to  my  sister.  I  encouraged 
:heir  acquaintance,  because  I  was  indebted  to  him  for  money  borrowed  at 
the  gaming  table,  when  I  was  not  myself  on  account  of  wine.  His  intimacy 
with  my  sister,  and  his  friendship  to  me  (as  I  then  considered  it),  was  flat 
tering  to  my  pride,  because  he  was  much  my  superior  in  rank. 

"  That  friendship — the  friendship  of  the  bottle— has  been  the  curse  of  my 
lift,  and  not  to  your  father  as  himself,  but  to  your  father  under  the  influ 
ence  of  strong  drink,  may  you  ascribe  the  sorrows  which  carried  your 
mother  to  a  premature  grave,  and  which  will  sadden  the  last  months  of 
your  life.  When  you  remember  your  father,  have  charity  for  his  wicked 
ness. 

'•  When  I  joined  the  band  of  outlaws,  which  for  so  many  years  was  the 
terror  of  Florida,  I  was  so  deeply  intoxicated  I  could  not  sign  my  name  to 
the  compact,  and  was  obliged  to  make  my  mark.  I  say  it  not  to  ex 
tenuate,  but  in  explanation.  When  the  period  of  the  compact  had  passed, 
I  broke  up  the  band.  Then  I  was  sober.  Long  before  would  I  have  done 
so  5  but  by  the  fear  of  that  which  the  law  has  now  declared  against  me,  I 
was  restrained.  A  review  of  the  horrors  of  my  dark  career  only  showed 
me  how  vain  it  would  be  to  seek  new  society,  and  hope  for  peace  and  safety 
— and  then,  drinking  deeply  to  drown  remorse,  I  pursued  my  villainous 
course,  seeking  by  energy  of  purpose  to  quiet  the  clamors  of  a  conscience 
which,  in  sober  hours,  has  always  been  active.  Oh !  that  I  had  hearkened 
unto  those  clamors,  and  met  whatever  fate  was  in  store  for  me. 

If  you  have  any  influence  in  this  world,  exert  it  in  behalf  of  the  victims 
of  that  vice  which  degraded  me  in  my  youth— made  my  manhood  a  period 
of  crime,  and  has  rendered  my  last  days  more  bitter  than  the  torments  of 
the  damned,  unless  their  punishment  bears  with  it  vivid  recollections  of 
their  ill-spent  lives. 

"  I  have  been  rich  in  gold,  but  poverty-stricken  in  all  things  else,  except 


The  Everglade  Heroes. 


yours  and  your  mother's  love  and  dovotion,  which  I  did  not  merit.  I  had 
been  happy  at  Rillwood,  but  for  the  recollections  of  deep  guilt. 

•''  Who  will  forgive  me  for  abusing  your  mother's  confidence — for  entailing 
upon  you  the  curse  of  being  the  daughter  of  the  captain  of  the  Everglade 
Heroes  ? 

"  God  forbid  that  you  should  curse  me,  my  daughter.  May  God  bless 
you.  I  can  write  no  more.  Your  mother  taught  you  to  pray — pray  for 
your  wicked  father.  CONERE." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE  LAST  SCENE  AT  RILLWOOD. 

LEDYARD  BRINTON  had  come  back  from  legislative  labors 
at  the  capital,  to  his  quiet  English  home,  with  "  blushing 
honors  thick  upon  him."  He  had  been  a  "  progressive  "  in 
the  councils  and  debates,  but  so  adroitly  had  he  managed  his 
movements,  that,  though  the  rigid  conservatists  opposed  him, 
they  admired  his  tact,  and  honored  his  devotion.  He  laid 
the  foundation  for  a  number  of  educational  and  internal  im 
provement  enterprises,  which  have  since  done  much  towards 
giving  character  and  wealth  to  the  Peninsular  State.  His 
prospects  were  flattering  for  the  highest  office  within  the  gift 
of  that  people,  but  it  was  not  his  destiny  to  receive  the  re 
ward  of  his  well-earned  popularity,  through  political  honors. 

His  love  for  Isabellc  Conere  had  suffered  no  abatement 
during  the  trials  through  which  she  passed,  and  he  was  now 
ready  to  offer  his  heart  and  his  fortune.  His  visits  to  Rill- 
wood  while  she  was  confined  to  her  room,  and  ever  since 
she  had  become  able  to  see  company,  had  afforded  him  little 
encouragement  that  she  still  reciprocated  the  affection  which 
had  once  been  his  pride.  After  a  critical  review  of  her 
whole  conduct  since  the  period  of  her  father's  arrest,  the 
numerous  lectures  of  his  considerate  aunt  had  no  influence 

(85) 


86  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

upon  him,  and  he  determined  to  ascertain,  definitely,  if  Isa- 
belle  had  changed  in  her  regards  toward  him  as  much  as  she 
had  in  appearance,  and  in  estimation  of  the  world  around 
her. 

Brushing  from  his  feet  the  dews  that  had  gathered,  on  a 
bright  morning,  along  the  avenue  leading  from  the  Augus 
tine  road  to  the  front  porch  of  Rill  wood  mansion,  we  see 
him  proceeding,  with  determined  step,  to  learn,  surely,  from 
the  mistress  of  the  fair  grounds  about  him,  whether  he  shall 
ever  be  their  master.  He  was  received  by  Isabelle,  in  a 
manner  that  gave  him  encouragement,  and  he  soon  brought 
about  a  conversation  which  called  up  scenes  in  happier  days. 
They  sat  near  a  window  commanding  a  view  of  a  grove  of 
orange  trees,  which,  one  year  previous,  were  loaded  with  the 
promise  of  golden  fruit,  and  were  the  haunt  of  beautiful  and 
sweetly  singing  birds,  but  in  which  were  now  to  be  seen  only 
a  few  stunted  blossoms  and  meager  clusters  of  leaves, 
attractive  neither  to  the  humming-bird  nor  to  the  "  house 
wife-bee."  In  reply  to  a  remark  by  Brinton,  Isabelle  said : 

"  You  remember  that  grove,  when  we  walked  through  it 
last  spring.  Its  desolation  is  not  more  striking  than  that  of 
my  heart.  I  am  changed,  Brinton,  as  words  cannot  tell." 

"  Not  to  me,  Isabelle.  It  needs  but  one  word  from  you 
to  make  you  all  to  me,  yea,  even  more  than  you  were  on  the 
evening  we  danced  together,  when  your  birth  day  was  cele 
brated  by  that  Patgoe  party,  about  which  so  irany  painful 
recollections  cluster." 

"  You  forget  that  my  name  is  a  reproach — that  we  were 
separated.  What  a  volume  of  painful  thoughts  crowds  upon 
my  mind  !  "  And  Isabelle  walked  away  from  the  window, 
to  a  sofa  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  Hot  tears 


The  Everglade  Heroes.  87 

fell  upon  her  attenuated  fingers,  as  she  pressed  them  over 
her  eyes,  as  if  to  shut  out  the  visions  that  Brinton's  reference 
had  called  up.  He  followed  her,  and  answered: 

"  Yes,  Isabelle,  I  have  forgotten  all  these  things — would 
that  you  could." 

"  Would  that  I  could,"  she  repeated,  when  he  continued, 

"  But  I  have  not  forgotten  vows  breathed  in  yonder  grove, 
at  a  season  like  this,  when  all  was  bursting  to  bloom  about 
us.  Can  Isabelle  think  of  the  luxuriance  of  that  time,  and 
in  its  recollections  forget  the  winter  of  sorrows  she  has  pass 
ed,  and  believe  that  to  her  mind  a  spring-time  will  come, 
crowned  with  joys  and  beauties,  as  surely  as  one  day,  these 
drear  groves  around  the  mansion  will  '  blossom  and  bear  fruit 
in  due  season' ?  " 

"  I  cannot  answer  you,  Brinton,  for  I  know  not  what  the 
future  has  in  store  for  me.  But  can  you  command  forgive 
ness  as  well  as  forgetfulness  ?  It  becomes  me  to  ask  it  of  you." 

"  Most  freely — most  freely.    You  will  be  mine,  Isabelle." 

"  I  am  desolate  hearted  and  poverty  stricken — unworthy 
of  you,"  she  answered. 

"'  What  mean  you,  Isabelle  ?  " 

"  That  the  property  on  which  I  live  will  never  be  improved 
under  my  hand.  It  was  bought  with  crime  and  blood.  I 
must  go  far  from  it — it  has  a  curse  upon  it." 

"  Leave  it,  then,  Isabelle.  Have  not  I  a  fortune,  ample, 
and  without  incumbrance  of  any  kind?  " 

"  And  Rillwood  must  be  like  it,  let  my  fate  be  what  it 
may.  It  was  purchased  by  wrong  doing — it  shall  be  spent 
in  doing  good.  It  is  my  design  that  the  negroes  upon  it 
shall  all  be  manumitted,  and  it  shall  be  sold  to  provide  homes 
for  them,  as  they  choose  —  in  Africa  or  America  —  and  if 


88  The  Everglade  Heroes. 

then  there  is  a  dollar  left,  it  shall  go  to  endow  an  Orphans' 
Institute  in  St.  Augustine." 

"  Nobly  spoken — like  your  beloved  mother,"  cried  Erin- 
ton.  "  Let  me  be  your  agent  for  this  pleasant  business." 

Isabelle  placed  her  hand  within  that  of  her  suitor,  and  he 
said  to  himself — 

"  We  are  betrothed." 


When  the  summer  was  ended,  a  noble  ship  crossed  Man- 
tanzas  bar,  bound  for  "  the  classic  shores  of  Italic."  Its 
most  richly  furnished  and  most  commodious  state-room  was 
occupied  by  Ledyard  and  Isabelle  Brinton. 


Fleet    Foot. 


A    LEGEND    OF    KENTUCKY. 


FLEET  EOOT: 

A    LEQEND    OF    KENTUCKY, 


IN  1778  Kentucky  was  the  home  of  remarkable  men. 
They  were  men  who  exceeded  the  Indian  in  cunning — who 
had  more  enduring  powers  of  resistance  to  fatigue,  and  who 
•were  as  relentless  in  pursuit  of  their  red  foes,  as  were  ever 
the  most  savage  red  men  in  pursuit  of  white  intruders  upon 
the  ancient  hunting  grounds  of  their  tribes. 

There  are  Indian  wigwams  now  toward  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains,  and  on  the  plains  sloping  from  the  Sierra  Nevada,  and 
there  are  white  men,  who  dare  wrap  themselves  in  their 
blankets  and  go  to  sleep  alone  in  the  forest  —  who  are  brave 
and  hardy,  and  who  know,  from  severe  experience,  the  trials 
and  fatigues  of  a  hunter's  life,  but  there  are  none  who  may 
be  selected  as  fair  representatives  of  the  Hunters  of  Ken 
tucky.  The  fatigues,  the  dangers  and  perils  of  Rocky  Moun 
tain  life,  now-a-days,  do  not  equal  those  which  surrounded 
the  pioneer  from  Virginia,  in  1778. 

Among  the  most  exciting  traditions  of  the  times  of  trials 
to  the  pioneers  in  the  great  valley  of  the  West,  those  belong 
ing  to  Kentucky  have  preeminent  interest.  Her  pioneers 
were  compelled  to  teach  a  horde  of  desperate  Indians  (not 

(91) 


92  Fleet  Foot 

before  disturbed)  that  they  must  retreat  from  the  valley  or 
the  hill-side  where  the  white  man  chose  to  build  his  cabin. 

Bold  and  brave,  stout  and  determined  men  alone,  were  fit 
ted  to  carry  the  rifle  and  swing  the  axe  in  the  forests  to  be 
felled,  for  the  cabin  and  the  corn  field  in  "old  Kaintuck." 

Our  legend  is  about  such  men.  Two  of  them  were  in  the 
depths  of  a  dense  forest  on  an  autumn  morning,  when,  though 
the  earlier  harbingers  of  dawn  had  given  place  to  roseate 
tints,  which  glowed  upon  hill-tops  touching  the  eastern  hori 
zon,  it  was  so  dark  in  the  wooded  valleys  that  the  hunters 
with  difficulty  groped  their  way.  They  had  not  traveled  all 
night,  but  they  had  gathered  up  their  blankets,  when  it  was 
yet  an  hour  before  day-break,  and  were  picking  their  way 
along  slowly  —  knowing  that  soon  the  morning  light  would 
break  through  the  thick  foliage  over  them.  They  had  been 
absent  from  the  Fort,  at  Harrodsburg,  several  days ;  they 
knew  there  was  anxiety  about  their  fate  and  they  were  impa 
tient  to  relieve  it. 

It  was  not  light  enough  for  them  to  see  distinctly,  when 
their  quick  ears  detected  a  footstep  stealthily  approaching. 
In  an  instant  each  had  chosen  his  ambush  and  was  keenly 
watchful. 

"  By  powder,  its  old  Martin,"  cried  one  of  the  hunters, 
and  springing  from  his  ambush,  he  drew  his  rifle  to  his  shoul 
der  and  leveled  it  at  the  person  thus  indicated,  who  gave  a 
sudden  yell,  and  then  in  a  rough  tone  said : 

"  Put  down  your  shootin'  iron.  I  aint  fond  of  such  mo 
tions,  ef  they  are  in  fun.  Whar's  Mac  ?  " 

"Ready  to  pop  you  ef  you'd  ben  a  red  skin,"  answered 
the  individual  inquired  for,  showing  himself. 

"  Well  I've  got  a  leetle  news  for  you  in  partic'lar,  but  may 


Fleet  Foot.  93 

be  Fleet  Foot'll  take  a  sort  'o  notion  to  it  too.  Sit  down  on 
this  'ere  log  till  I  tell  you,  for  its  a  leetle  serious,  and  I'm 
kinder  worked  up  about  it." 

The  three  hunters  sat  together  in  earnest  conversation  un 
til  the  sun  shone  broadly  on  the  tree  tops,  and  checkered 
shadows  lay  all  around  them  on  the  fallen  leaves. 

Old  Martin,  after  reminding  the  others  that  he  had  gone 
away  from  the  fort  at  Harrodsburg  the  day  before  they  left, 
informed  them  that  he  had  been  working  about  ten  miles  dis 
tant,  where  some  friends  were  making  a  settlement.  Mac's 
sister  had  gone  with  him  as  company  for  his  wife.  Four  men 
were  at  work  in  the  woods,  when  they  heard  screams  at  the 
cabin.  They  rushed  toward  it.  Martin's  son,  one  of  the 
four,  was  shot  by  an  Indian,  whom  old  Martin  saw  and  at 
tacked,  while  the  others  continued  toward  the  cabin. 

"  I  put  a  ball  in  that  red  skin  who  shot  Bob,"  said  old 
Martin,  talking  to  Mac  and  Fleet  Foot,  "  and  then  I  run  for 
the  cabin  too.  I  didn't  hear  or  see  any  sign  of  any  more 
Ingins,  and  when  I  got  to  the  cabin  I  found  the  other  boys  a 
debatin'  what  was  to  be  done.  They  hadn't  seen  a  red  skin, 
but  both  the  women  were  gone.  I  swore  a  leetle  and  cussed 
the  Ingins  right  smart,  but  poor  Bob  was  in  the  woods  and 
we  had  to  look  arter  him.  So  we  went,  sneakin',  and  found 
him  dead  enough  and  we  carried  him  to  the  cabin  and  then 
held  a  council.  I  swore  I'd  go  to  the  fort  and  git  a  party, 
and  follow  them  red  skins  till  we  had  our  women  and  their 
scalps  ef  it  took  us  till  snow  come.  We  discussed  awhile, 
and  the  other  boys  agreed  to  get  on  the  Ingins'  trail  and 
make  signs,  and  I  started  for  the  fort.  It  was  jist  about 
sundown,  and  soon  it  got  dark  and  I  was  a  leetle  excited,  and 
I  got  a  leetle  wrong,  and  I've  been  a  wanderin'  and  was  just 


94  Fleet  Foot. 

beginnin'  to  get  the  right  bearins'  when  I  saw  Fleet  Foot  a 
draw-in'  a  sight  on  me.  It  was  tarnal  lucky." 

Fleet  Foot  and  his  companion  had  listened  attentively  while 
Martin  related  the  particulars  of  the  attack,  and  when  he  had 
concluded,  Fleet  Foot  said : 

"  Did  you  notice  what  sort  of  a  varmint  that  was  you  did 
the  bisness  for?" 

"  J  couldn't  jist  exactly  tell,  'cause  I  hadn't  time,  but  I 
b'lieve  he  was  a  Blackfish,"  answered  Martin. 

"  We  can  catch  'em  then,"  said  Fleet  Foot,  "  I  know  them 
varmints.  You  know  what  the  old  chief  told  Boone  —  that 
I  beat  all  his  warriors  on  a  fair  race  last  summer,  and  he  was 
the  old  'un  who  give  me  my  nickname.  Ef  I  could  beat  his 
fastest  red  devils  then,  and  as  I  did  when  I  had  to  creep  in 
to  the  fort,  when  Mac's  brother  was  shot  this  summer,  Mac 
and  I  kin  overtake  the  varmints  now,  and  we  will.  We've 
got  a  lot  of  accounts  to  settle  with  'em  and  now's  the  time. 
We'd  chase  'em  ef  they  had'nt  no  women  ;  but,  by  powder, 
we'll  have  them  women  ef  they  havn't  scalped  'em,  and  ef 
they  have  there  shan't  be  one  of  old  Blackfish's  varmints  left 
in  old  Kaintuck.  Now,  old  man,  you  go  right  on  straight  to 
the  fort  and  get  five  or  six  hunters  and  send  'em  on  arter  us, 
and  we'll  go  right  off  to  your  cabin,  and  before  night  we'll  over 
take  them  Ingins,  and  may-be  afore  your  boys  get  up  with  us 
we'll  do  the  bisness.  Tell  'em  at  the  fort  that  our  blood  is 
up,  and  the  sights  on  our  rifles  are  itchin'  to  be  drawn  on 
them  Blackfish." 

"  That's  a  fact,"  cried  Mac,  "they  know  us  and  they  can 
jist  calculate  that  we'll  stretch  a  few  of  the  rascals  ef  we 
get  a  chance,  or  they'll  do  our  bisness  for  us  right  quick. 
They  got  one  of  my  folks  and  that's  as  many  as  we  mean  to 


Fleet  Foot.  95 

let  'em  have  —  Kate  shall  be  rescued  or  avenged,  anyhow 
we'll  give  'ein  ten  to  one  for  cutting  off  Harry  and  Bob." 

The  hunters  separated  without  formality ;  old  Martin 
hastening  with  all  his  energy  to  execute  his  mission,  and  Mac 
and  Fleet  Foot  striking  a  bee-line  for  the  cabin. 

Fleet  Foot  had  an  interest  in  the  success  of  the  enterprise, 
about  which  he  did  not  speak.  It  was  venturesome  for  two 
hunters  to  start  from  the  cabin  on  the  night  previous,  to  fol 
low,  they  knew  not  how  many  Indians,  but  they  went  only  as 
spies.  It  was  much  more  venturesome  —  heroic  if  not  des 
perate,  for  Fleet  Foot  and  his  companion  to  undertake  what 
they  threatened.  They  went  not  only  as  spies ;  unless  the 
party  of  Indians  was  very  large  they  determined  to  rescue 
the  women,  if  they  were  alive  —  if  not,  to  avenge  their  mas 
sacre  terribly.  Both  were  daring  and  experienced  hunters. 
Fleet  Foot  was  one  of  the  bravest  and  shrewdest  of  Kentucky 
pioneers.  He  was  young,  but  athletic,  watchful  and  quick 
at  expedients,  besides  he  possessed  extraordinary  fleetness. 
No  Indian  could  out-run  him.  He  had  several  opportunities 
of  testing  his  powers  as  a  runner  in  saving  his  own  and  others' 
lives.  He  alluded  to  some  of  them  in  his  conversation  with 
old  Martin. 

On  one  occasion  he  was  chopping  with  his  brother  and 
another  pioneer,  about  four  miles  from  the  fort,  when  a  large 
party  of  Indians,  led  by  the  renowned  chief  Blackfish,  sud 
denly  attacked  them,  shot  Fleet  Foot's  brother,  and  took 
the  other  chopper  prisoner.  Fleet  Foot  dashed  through  the 
woods,  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  with  half  a  dozen  warriors 
straining  every  muscle  to  overtake  him.  It  was  their  design 
to  attack  the  fort.  They  were  earnestly  anxious  to  prevent 
an  alarm  being  given,  but  the  young  hunter  was  too  fleet  for 


96  Fleet  Foot. 

them  all.  He  reached  the  fort  in  safety,  and  the  garrison 
prepared  at  once  to  meet  the  foe.  When  the  Indians  made 
the  attack  they  were  repelled  with  considerable  loss. 

On  another  occasion  Fleet  Foot  was  shooting  at  a  mark, 
near  the  fort,  with  a  brother  of  his  present  companion. 
They  were  suddenly  surrounded  by  Indians.  The  other 
marksman  was  shot.  Balls  aimed  at  Fleet  Foot  missed  him. 
He  ran  with  all  his  energy  toward  the  fort,  several  Indians 
in  full  chase  after  him  —  others  firing  at  him.  He  was  with 
in  seven  paces  of  the  fort  when  he  saw  that  the  door  was 
not  open.  In  an  instant  the  thought  struck  him  that  it  dare 
not  be  opened  for  fear  the  Indians  would  rush  in.  He  threw 
himself  flat  on  the  ground  between  a  large  stump  and  the 
fort.  There  were  numerous  guns  aimed  at  the  Indians  from 
the  fort,  and  they  dare  not  come  within  reach  of  the  balls. 
They  amused  themselves  by  firing  at  Fleet  Foot.  There  he 
lay,  his  mother  looking  down  upon  him  and  praying  that  he 
might  be  saved  —  his  friends  urging  him  to  lie  close  and  not 
lose  courage  —  while  the  balls  of  the  savage  warriors,  thirst 
ing  for  his  blood,  were  striking  close  to  him,  often  throwing 
upon  him  the  dirt  which  they  plowed  up.  It  was  a  most  peril 
ous  and  painful  position.  He  conversed  with  his  friends 
about  opening  the  door  of  the  fort.  He  said  he  could  rush 
through  it  in  an  instant.  They  answered  him  that  they  dare 
not  risk  the  lives  of  the  women  and  children.1'"  The  Indians 
might  reach  the  door  before  it  could  be  securely  fastened 
again.  There  were  not  men  enough  in  the  fort  to  fight  the 
large  body  of  Indians  in  close  combat. 

The  balls  from  the  rifles  of  the  Indians  continued  to  strike 
around  him.  A  moment  the  young  hunter  was  engaged  in 
deep  thought  —  then  he  cried : 


Fleet  Foot.  97 

"  For  God's  sake  dig  a  hole  under  the  fort,  and  I'll  creep 
through  it." 

Immediately  his  request  was  complied  with,  and  the  brave 
hunter  reached  this  curious  avenue  to  safety  without  injury, 
and  was  caught  in  his  mother's  arms,  and  wept  over  as  one 
rescued  who  had  been  given  up  as  lost.  The  baffled  Indians 
retired  with  savage  yells. 

When  Fleet  Foot  and  companion  reached  the  cabin,  they 
had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  "  signs  "  made  by  the  hunters 
who  had  followed  the  Indians  as  spies.  They  pushed  forward 
on  the  trail  with  a  speed  which  only  experienced  hunters 
could  attain. 

It  was  yet  early  in  the  day  when  old  Martin  showed  a  par 
ty  of  five  hunters  where  he  had  killed  the  Indian  who  shot 
his  son  Bob.  This  party  immediately  followed  in  pursuit  of 
Fleet  Foot  and  Mac. 

It  was  between  mid-day  and  sun-down  when  Fleet  Foot 
declared  that  the  Indians  could  not  be  much  in  advance,  and 
he  and  Mac  began  to  consider  what  they  should  do  when  the 
savages  were  overtaken.  They  conversed  a  few  minutes 
when  Fleet  Foot  said  : 

"It's  no  use  —  we  don't  know  how  we'll  find  'em.  It'll 
be  time  to  fix  how  we  shall  give  it  to  'em  when  we've  got  a 
sight  of  the  varmints." 

Again  the  hunters  pushed  forward  zealously.  They  had 
not  yet  met  the  two  hunters  who  left  the  cabin  the  night  pre 
vious.  They  began  to  have  serious  surmises  about  their  fate. 
As  they  hastened  on  they  frequently  conversed  in  low  tones 
about  their  forerunners.  Lengthened  shadows  were  creep 
ing  in  the  forest,  indicating  that  soon  it  would  be  impossible 
for  the  hunters  to  keep  trace  of  the  signs  which  had  led  them 
1 


98  Fleet  Foot. 

on  during  the  day.  Fleet  Foot  observed  a  small  piece  of 
linen  on  a  bush.  He  grasped  it  eagerly,  and  showing  it  to 
Mac,  said : 

"  That's  a  leetle  encouraging.  It  shows  the  women  are 
yet  alive,  anyhow,  but  its  tarnal  strange  we  hav'nt  ketched 
them  other  boys  ;  I  'bleeve  they've  been  a  leetle  careless  and 
the  Ingins  have  got  'em." 

He  had  gone  but  a  few  steps,  after  he  made  these  remarks, 
•when  Fleet  Foot  cried : 

"  Jist  as  I  expected.  Here's  one  on  'em  anyhow.  Them 
Ingins  '11  roast  the  other,  by  powder,  if  we  don't  get  him  out 
of  their  hands." 

"  That  they  will,"  answered  Mac.  who  looked  upon  the 
dead  body  of  a  hunter,  with  whom  he  had  been  well  ac 
quainted,  lying  directly  in  their  path.  He  had  been  shot  and 
his  scalp  taken. 

"  Last  year  old  Blackfish  said  he'd  roast  the  first  hunter 
he  could  get  into  his  camp,  and  if  they've  got  the  other  fel 
low  a  prisoner,  I'll  bet  they  mean  to  give  him  a  taste  of  what 
we  give  young  pigs  on  Christmas,  but  we  won't  let  'em,  by 
powder,  as  you  say,  Fleet  Foot." 

"  No,  by  powder,  we  won't,"  cried  Fleet  Foot. 

The  hunters  did  not  stand  over  the  body  of  their  dead 
friend  even  long  enough  for  this  conversation.  Their  duties 
to  the  living  were  too  pressing.  They  talked  cautiously  as 
they  proceeded.  Experienced  as  they  were  in  detecting  In 
dian  "  signs,"  they  knew  that  the  savages  could  not  be  far  in 
advance,  and  they  hoped  to  overtake  them  before  it  was  dark. 

"While  the  hunters  were  hastening  in  the  pursuit  under 
this  impression,  the  Indians  were  encamped  upon  a  small 


Fleet  Foot.  99 

,  in  a  spot  which  afforded  no  particular  advantages  to 
them  in  case  of  an  attack. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  female  prisoners, 
from  over-fatigue,  began  to  grow  tardy  in  their  march.  Both 
fell  behind  the  main  party  of  savages  and  were  guarded  by 
a  brawny  warrior  who  delighted  in  torturing  them.  The  spies 
on  their  trail  came  in  sight  of  the  women  and  this  warrior, 
who,  except  an  Indian  boy,  was,  at  the  moment,  the  only  sav 
age  in  sight.  Supposing  this  to  be  the  whole  of  the  party, 
the  young  men,  with  a  reckless  impulse,  rushed  to  the  attack. 
They  saw  their  error  too  late.  The  brawny  warrior  was  se 
verely  wounded  by  a  ball  from  the  rifle  of  one  of  the  spies, 
but  no  sooner  had  the  report  of  his  gun  rang  through  the 
woods,  than  the  white  men  were  surrounded.  One  was  shot 
and  scalped ;  the  other  taken  prisoner. 

While  Fleet  Foot  and  his  companion  were  groping  their 
way  by  starlight,  the  Indians  were  holding  a  council  upon 
the  fate  of  their  prisoners. 

The  spies  had  found  much  difficulty  in  tracing  the  path  of 
the  Indians,  but  they  left  behind  them  signs  which  clearly 
indicated  to  their  followers  the  path  to  be  pursued.  The 
savages  had  pushed  forward  with  much  speed  and  caution 
till  they  had  been  attacked  ,  when,  supposing  that  all  danger 
from  immediate  watch  over  their  movements  had  been  averted, 
they  relaxed  their  speed,  and  soon  encamped. 

Losing  the  aid  of  their  forerunners,  from  the  time  they 
left  the  corpse  of  their  unfortunate  friend,  Fleet  Foot  and 
Mac  were  obliged  to  exercise  their  keenest  powers,  in  order 
to  keep  the  Indian  trail. 

Twilight  was  gone,  and  though  the  hunters  could  clearly 
see  the  leaves  on  the  tree  tops,  it  had  become  quite  dark 


loo  Fleet  Foot. 

around  their  path.  They  were  about  to  seek  a  camping 
place,  and  give  over  the  pursuit  till  another  day  dawned, 
when  Fleet  Foot,  stooping  forward,  looked  for  several  mo 
ments  intently  through  the  thickening  gloom,  then  he  whis 
pered  to  Mac: 

"  Somebody's  makin'  a  little  fire  out  yonder  about  a  mile, 
and  I'll  bet  my  ammunition  it's  them  tarnal  varmints." 

The  fire  grew  brighter ;  Mac  saw  it  distinctly.  The  hunt 
ers  slowly  and  stealthily  turned  their  footsteps  toward  the 
feeble  flame.  It  became  more  and  more  distinct,  till  at  length 
they  could  see  its  smoke  curling  among  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
nnder  which  it  snapped  and  glowed.  A  dark  form  stood  be 
tween  the  fire  and  the  hunters ;  they  recognized  the  outline 
to  be  that  of  an  Indian  ;  creeping  onward  with  cat-like  cau 
tion,  both  grasped  their  rifles  closer,  and  put  their  left  hands 
on  their  hunting  knives.  They  were  impatient  to  know  where 
were  the  prisoners,  and  what  was  the  strength  of  the  Indian 
party.  Presently  the  fire  blazed  so  brightly  that  it  illumi 
nated  three  forms  which  the  hunters,  with  great  joy,  recog 
nized  as  those  of  the  women  and  the  captured  spy  ;  but  with 
all  their  skill  and  all  their  caution  the  hunters  could  not  as 
certain  the  number  of  savages.  An  old  Indian  came  to  the 
fire  and  lit  his  pipe ;  another  roasted  a  piece  of  meat,  and 
both  joined  a  party  at  such  a  distance  from  the  fire  that  Fleet 
Foot  was  puzzled  to  tell  how  many  foes  he  must  fight  before 
the  prisoners  could  be  rescued.  He  longed  to  shoot  the  "  var 
mints,"  who  exposed  themselves  at  the  fire,  but  prudence  for 
bade  him.  He  instructed  Mac  to  keep  his  place,  and  watch 
closely  while  he  went  around  the  camp  and  reconnoitered. 

Watchfully  and  noiselessly  he  stole  through  the  woods,  till 
the  Indian  council  was  between  him  and  the  fire ;  then  he 


Fleet  Foot.  101 

could  count  the  number  of  Indians,  but  he  was  not  satisfied ; 
he  desired  to  communicate  to  the  prisoners  the  cheering  news, 
that  they  had  friends  as  well  as  foes,  around  them.  With 
this  intention,  he  continued  his  noiseless  course  until  he  stood 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  prisoners.  The  young  woman  was 
nearest  him.  He  whispered  her  name.  She  did  not  hear 
him,  or  if  she  heard,  conceived  the  voice  to  be  one  her  active 
imagination  had  conjured.  Again  Fleet  Foot  whispered  that 
name  which  was  dear  to  him,  and  fell  sweetly  from  his  lips. 
The  young  woman  started  and  looked  about  her.  An  Indian 
on  the  watch,  saw  her  startled  movement,  and  came  near  her. 
The  fire  shone  brightly  on  him  ;  Fleet  Foot  was  sorely  tempt 
ed  to  shoot  him,  but  the  risk  was  too  great.  The  bold  hunt 
er's  position  was  one  of  great  trial.  Another  word  from  him 
might  alarm  the  young  woman,  and  her  agitation  defeat  the 
whole  scheme  of  rescue.  Shielded  from  the  view  of  the  In 
dians  by  a  large  tree,  Fleet  Foot  crept  nearer  the  prisoners. 
He  was  rejoiced  to  see  the  Indian  whose  suspicions  had  been 
excited,  return  among  his  companions,  and  take  his  seat  in 
the  council.  Fleet  Foot  was  now  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
prisoners  —  he  saw  them  as  distinctly  as  if  it  were  daylight, 
and  he  could  see,  seated  upon  the  ground  not  many  yards  be 
yond  the  prisoners,  a  little  body  of  desperate  savages,  appar 
ently  consulting  about  the  fate  of  three  pale-faces,  toward 
whom,  the  full  light  of  a  bright  fire  blazing  on  them,  more 
than  one  Indian  eye  was  continually  cast.  Again  Fleet  Foot 
whispered.  To  his  great  joy  he  saw  that  the  young  woman 
heard  and  recognized  a  friendly  voice,  but  having  been  warned 
by  the  conduct  of  the  savage  watching  her,  was  shrewd 
enough  to  make  no  movement  that  would  again  rouse  his  sus 
picions.  She  dare  not  answer  the  voice,  and  Fleet  Foot  was 


102  Fleet  Foot 

left  to  conjecture  whether  she  knew  it  was  he  so  near  her 
He  would  have  run  many  risks  to  have  known  how  wildly  hei 
heart  beat,  for  it  told  her  that  he  who  was  risking  so  much 
for  her  sake  could  be  none  other  than  Fleet  Foot. 

The  hunter  was  determined  not  to  be  in  doubt  as  to  whether 
she  knew  him,  and  he  whispered : 

"  I'm  Fleet  Foot,  and  Mac's  not  far  off;  and  old  Martin's 
a  comin'  with  a  party  of  sharp  shooters,  and  afore  morning 
we'll  give  them  varmints  what'll  keep  'em  from  killin'  anymore 
white  folks,  or  stealin'  any  more  wimen.  When  you  git  a 
chance,  whisper  to  the  old  woman,  and  tell  her  not  to  go  to 
sleep,  and  to  tell  that  chap  tied  up  near  her  to  be  on  the  look 
out  for  a  fight." 

The  young  woman  dropped  her  head  as  if  it  had  fallen  up 
on  her  breast  with  a  nod  in  sleep,  and  Fleet  Foot  understood 
that  his  message  and  warning  were  distinctly  known. 

A  considerable  length  of  time  had  elapsed  while  the  hunter 
was  engaged  in  his  dangerous  enterprise  of  reconnoitering, 
and  of  communicating  glad  tidings  to  the  prisoners,  and  the 
night  was  far  advanced.     He  had  for  more  than  an  hour  ex 
pected  that  the  Indians  would  appoint  a  watch  for  the  pris 
oners,  and  break  up  their  council.     It  must  have  been  near 
midnight  when  he  was  gratified  with  a  sight  of  preparations 
on  the  part  of  the  savages,  for  a  couple  of  hour's  repose  be 
fore  they  started  on  the  march  of  the  coming  day.     Th? 
hunter  cautiously  retreated  from  his  proximity  to  the  camp 
Two  savages  left  the  main  body,  and  approached  tbeir  pris 
oners  —  the  others  wrapped  themselves  in  their  blankets,  and 
stretched  themselves  upon  the  ground  to  sleep.     The  savages 
had  secured  their  prisoners  by  tying  their  hands  tightly  be 
hind  large  trees.     They  stood  in  this  painful  position  several 


Fleet  Foot.  103 

yards  distant  from  each  other.  The  two  warriors  left  to 
guard  them,  manifested  no  disposition  to  allow  them  any  po 
sition  more  favorable  to  rest  or  repose.  Fleet  Foot  was  a 
thoughtful  observer  of  this  neglect,  and  it  did  not  auger  well 
in  his  mind  for  the  safety  of  the  prisoners  on  the  morrow. 
He  was  impressed  that  the  council  which  had  just  broken  up, 
had  decided  on  bloody  deeds.  He  dare  not  act  alone  under 
such  trying  circumstances,  and  he  determined  to  see  Mac.  It 
would  have  been  no  easy  task  for  an  inexperienced  woodsman 
to  find  his  companion  under  such  circumstances,  but  Fleet  Foot 
had  calculated  well  what  were  his  chances  of  return  to  his 
friend,  and  he  found  but  little  difficulty  in  tracing  his  way  to 
the  vicinity  where  he  left  Mac.  A  signal,  well  understood 
between  the  hunters,  and  not  calculated  to  alarm  the  savages, 
had  they  heard  it,  was  given  and  answered,  and  in  a  few  mo 
ments  the  brother  and  lover  were  earnestly  consulting  what 
was  to  be  done  to  rescue  Kate  and  her  fellow  prisoners. 

"  There  are  ten  or  a  dozen  of  'em,"  said  Fleet  Foot,  "  I 
can't  exactly  tell  which,  but  any  how,  there's  too  many  of 
'em  for  us  to  fight ;  but,  by  powder,  Ingins  or  no  Ingins,  them 
wimen  shall  be  out  of  their  clutches  afore  the  varmints  leave 
this  camp,  or  I'm  a  dead  hunter." 

"  That's  my  mind  to  a  har,"  answered  Mac,  grasping  Fleet 
Foot's  hand. 

"  It's  tarnal  queer  old  Martin  haint  come  up,  but  may  be 
he  has  seen  this  fire,  jist  as  we  did,  and  there's  half  a  dozen 
other  fellows  sr.eakin'  about  here  now." 

"  May  be,"  said  Mac,  "  but  we  can't  find  'em,  and  daresn't 
make  any  signal  or  we'll  have  all  them  Ingins  up  in  a  minit, 
and  no  tellin'  what  might  happen.  We  must  calculate  with- 


104  Fleet  Foot. 

out  'em,  and  ef  we  git  into  a  fight  and  old  Martin's  about 
here,  we'll  have  him  on  our  side  quick  enough." 

"Well,"  returned  Fleet  Foot,  "there's  only  one  way  to 
do  it  —  that  fire's  gittin'  low  —  it  wouldn't  be  queer  if  them 
Ingins  on  the  watch  went  to  sleep,  'cause  they  know  the  pris 
oners  can't  get  away  ;  and  I'm  certain  they  don't  suspect  any 
body's  on  the  track  of  'em.  Ef  they  did  they  wouldn't  a 
kept  up  sich  a  fire.  Now,  you  follow  me,  and  we'll  go  over 
there  and  watch  the  varmints,  and  whenever  they  shut  their 
eyes,  you  take  one  and  I'll  take  the  other  so  quick  he  shant 
give  even  an  Ingin  grunt,  and  then  it'll  be  an  easy  matter  to 
cut  the  prisoners  loose." 

Mac  agreed  to  this  arrangement.  Daylight  was  now  draw 
ing  near.  Whatever  plans  were  calculated  on,  must  be  ex 
ecuted  without  delay.  The  hunters  knew  that  if  they  suc 
ceeded  in  releasing  the  prisoners,  as  soon  as  the  Indians 
discovered  their  loss,  they  would  put  forth  every  exertion,  and 
exercise  all  their  cunning  to  retake  them ;  but  with  all  this 
hazard  before  them,  they  were  resolved  to  release  them  if  it 
was  in  their  power,  and  trust  to  luck,  shrewdness,  and  the 
probability  of  assistance  from  Martin's  party.  They  were 
convinced  that  one  or  more  of  the  prisoners  would  be  killed 
on  the  morrow,  and  bravely  and  generously  they  thought  it 
was  worth  while  to  risk  their  two  lives  to  save  three,  one  of 
which  was  particularly  valuable  to  both  hunters,  but  peculi 
arly  so  to  one. 

While  the  two  Indian  guards  were  growing  weary  and 
sleepy,  they  had  no  suspicion  that  two  hunters,  with  drawn 
knives,  were  ready,  if  they  slumbered,  to  make  that  their  last 
sleep. 

Fleet  Foot  began  to  fear  that  daylight  would  dawn  before 


Fleet  Foot.  105 

the  savages  nodded,  and  that  the  others  would  awaken  and 
all  would  be  lost.  Every  moment  increased  the  danger  and 
narrowed  the  probabilities  of  rescue  and  escape.  At  length 
he  brought  himself  to  believe  that  the  moment  for  action  had 
arrived.  He  gave  the  concerted  signal,  and  approached  his 
victim,  who  stood  erect  against  a  tree.  He  was  successful, 
and  drove  his  knife  to  the  heart  of  the  savage,  who  may 
have  been  dreaming,  perhaps,  of  a  wigwam  far  away,  where 
children,  of  whom  he  was  proud,  awaited  his  return.  The 
savage  fell  in  his  last  sleep,  heavily  to  the  ground.  That 
one  which  Mac  was  to  have  attacked,  was  startled  by  the 
fall.  He  was  sitting  upon  the  ground,  nodding,  but  was  not 
sound  asleep.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  when  Mac  was  not  yet 
near  enough  to  strike  him.  In  an  instant  he  would  have 
been  away  from  the  dim  light  of  the  fire  and  out  of  sight  of 
the  hunter,  but  Mac  rushed  upon  and  grappled  with  him. 
Fleet  Foot  sprang  to  cut  the  bands  which  confined  the  pris 
oners.  Meantime  Mac  struggled  with  the  savage ;  both 
were  powerful  men — for  a  moment  the  savage  was  confused, 
and  did  not  employ  his  strength  and  agility  as  he  might  have 
done  under  ordinary  circumstances  —  of  this  confusion,  the 
hunter  took  advantage,  and  was  quick  enough  to  plunge  his 
knife  into  the  red  man's  breast  —  he  fell  with  a  cry  which 
aroused  his  fellow-warriors,  who  had  slumbered  in  confidence 
that  his  watchfulness  protected  them. 

Ten  Indians  were  on  their  feet,  with  their  rifles  in  their 
hands,  before  the  death  cry  of  their  guard  had  died  in  the 
woods.  The  fire,  which  they  had  left  brightly  burning,  had 
nearly  gone  out.  The  brands  were  scattered.  They  could 
neither  see  their  prisoners  nor  any  foes.  They  did  not  rush 
forward  to  ascertain  the  fate  of  their  sentinels,  nor  did  they 


106  Fleet  Foot. 

flee  hastily  from  the  spot  where  they  had  been  sleeping. 
Each  individual  quietly  skulked  around  a  tree.  No  foe 
could  see  them.  Not  one  of  them  could  either  see  or  hear 
a  foe,  but  nevertheless  there  were  very  dangerous  foes  quite 
near  them. 

When  Fleet  Foot  rushed  to  release  the  prisoners,  he  found 
the  good  work  accomplished.  A  rough  hand  grasped  his 
arm,  and  a  voice  which  he  knew  well,  said : 

"  We've  been  watchin'  the  varmints  most  all  night.  They're 
skeered  now,  but  they  won't  run  nor  show  themselves  yet 
awhile  ;  our  boys  understand.  We  must  lay  low  with  our 
guns  cocked  till  it's  day,  and  we'll  all  git  a  blaze  at  'em. 
How  many  ?  " 

"  Ten,  I  guess,"  said  Fleet  Foot. 

"  Take  care  o'  this  woman,"  said  old  Martin. 

It  was  Kate.  Fleet  Foot  said  not  a  word,  but  put  his 
arm  around  the  girl  as  if  he  had  a  special  right  to  protect  her. 

There  was  no  wind  stirring.  It  was  as  quiet  in  the  deep 
woods,  as  if  there  had  been  no  Indian  camp  —  no  desperate 
adventure  —  no  struggle  —  no  scene  of  death.  Softly  the 
morning  light  began  to  steal  through  the  dense  foliage  —  it 
searched  its  way  among  the  green  leaves,  and  slowly  dissipa 
ted  the  gloom  which  hung  tenaciously  around  the  trunks  of 
the  trees — among  the  low  bushes,  and  in  the  wooded  ravines. 
The  fox  went  snuffing  to  his  hole — the  rabbit  hopped  timidly 
from  one  moss  bed  or  grass  tuft  to  another  —  the  birds  left 
their  nests  and  sang  sweetly  on  twigs,  which  overhung  fallen 
leaves  stained  with  blood  —  the  squirrel  left  its  nest,  and  sat 
securely  chirping  on  boughs  that  bent  toward  ashes,  which 
were  the  result  of  a  flame  that  had  given  light  for  the  plan 
ning  and  executing  of  bold  and  daring  designs. 


Fleet  Foot.  107 

Many  an  animal  was,  no  doubt,  watching  in  that  fresh 
light  of  morning  for  an  opportunity  to  secure  such  prey  as 
he  was  wont  to  satisfy  his  hunger  upon ;  and  there  were 
other  eyes  watching  an  opportunity  to  satisfy  a  passion 
which  will  lead  men  often  to  more  desperate  deeds  than  or 
dinary  hunger  suggests.  The  quiet,  beautiful  scene,  a  lover 
of  nature  would  have  rejoiced  in,  was  to  be  disturbed  by 
other  conflicts  than  those  between  cruel  animals  and  their 
victims. 

It  was  scarcely  broad  day  light,  when  one  of  the  Indian 
warriors  thought  he  saw  a  movement  in  a  clump  of  bushes, 
a  dozen  rods  or  more  distant  from  him.  He  watched 
intently.  He  was  not  mistaken ;  other  Indians  had  their 
suspicions  excited  ;  knowing  glances  were  exchanged.  The 
suspicious  bush  became  more  attractive  to  the  savages.  Pres 
ently,  what  was  apparently  a  woman's  bonnet,  was  to  be  seen 
cautiously  elevated  nearly  to  the  top  of  the  bushes ;  slowly 
it  turned  around  as  if  there  were  eyes  within,  sharply  look 
ing  out  to  ascertain  if  there  were  foes,  or  suspicious  signs  of 
foes,  in  view.  A  rifle  report  rang  through  the  forest,  and  the 
exposed  bonnet  disappeared.  Again  the  forest  was  free 
from  unusual  sounds.  It  was  not  long  before  Indians  skulk 
ed  from  one  tree  to  another.  They  were  at  first  very  cau 
tious,  but  they  saw  nothing  to  awaken  suspicion,  and  they 
became  more  bold.  Now,  one  left  his  ambuscade,  then  an 
other.  It  was  not  long  before  eight  warriors  stood  near  the 
spot  where  the  fire  of  the  night  previous  had  gleamed  on 
both  exulting  and  hopeless  faces.  They  talked  rapidly,  and 
seemed  desciding  upon  the  course  they  should  pursue ;  sud 
denly  their  council  was  brought  to  a  violent  conclusion,  by 
the  unerring  aim  of  half  a  dozen  invisible  rifles,  and  as  many 


io8  Fleet  Foot. 

savages  springing  into  the  air,  fell  dead  ;  four  others  —  two 
of  them  from  the  council,  and  two  others  from  an  ambush, 
they  were  about  leaving  to  join  the  council  —  bounded  away 
through  the  woods  with  an  energy  which  indicated  that  each 
knew  he  who  was  the  fleetest,  stood  the  first  chance  of 
escape.  The  hindmost  Indian  had  not  gone  many  rods  be 
fore  a  ball  arrested  his  career. 

Fleet  Foot  had  his  eye  upon  one  who  distanced  all  the 
others.  He  recognized  him  by  peculiar  marks  as  the  savage 
who  had  well  nigh  overtaken  him  on  the  two  trying  occasions 
previously  mentioned,  when  his  fleetness  saved  his  life.  The 
Indian  had  no  weapon  but  his  hunting-knife.  Fleet  Foot 
dropped  his  unloaded  rifle,  and  bounded  swiftly  in  pursuit. 
Shouts  rang  after  him  as  he  sped  on  his  way.  The  Indian, 
glancing  behind  him,  saw  what  danger  threatened.  He  re 
doubled  his  energies,  yet  Fleet  Foot  gained  on  him,  cheered 
as  he  was  in  the  daring  race  by  Mac,  who  followed  with  all 
his  speed,  but  was  barely  able  to  keep  in  sight. 

Away  went  the  savage,  bounding  over  logs,  leaping  ravines, 
and  climbing  steep  banks  ;  and  after  him  came  Fleet  Foot, 
straining  every  muscle  to  its  utmost  tension.  The  hunters 
were  all  excited  about  the  chase,  and  several  were  endeavor 
ing  to  keep  in  sight  of  those  who  had  already  lost  sight  of 
Fleet  Foot.  There  was  one  person  who  could  not  join  in  the 
chase,  who  had  deeper  interest  in  his  fate  than  all  the  hun 
ters — an  interest  which  was  confessed  in  soft  whispers,  when 
Fleet  Foot  was  taking  care  of  her,  as  old  Martin  had  directed 
him,  in  that  hour  of  great  suspense  both  to  the  hunters  and 
to  the  Indians,  which  they  had  passed  before  daylight.  She 
would  have  endeavored  to  restrain  Fleet  Foot  from  his  mad 


Fleet  Foot.  109 

chase,  but  she  did  not  know  that  such  a  race  was  to  be  run, 
until  her  lover  was  nearly  out  of  her  sight. 

Fleet  Foot  was  gaining  faster  and  faster  on  the  savage, 
who  redoubled  his  energies  ;  he  took  wild  leaps  and  sudden 
turns,  but  the  white  man  was  equal  to  him  in  agility,  and,  at 
length,  when  there  was  a  clear  piece  of  woods  before  him, 
the  savage  found  that  he  must  soon  be  overtaken.  Too 
brave  to  allow  himself  to  be  struck  or  taken  prisoner  when  in 
flight,  he  turned  and  awaited  his  pursuer.  Nothing  daunted, 
Fleet  Foot  pressed  forward.  The  Indian  had  the  advantage, 
should  he  rush  upon  him,  and  the  hunter  checked  his  career 
when  within  a  few  paces  of  the  savage.  A  moment  the  foes 
glanced  at  each  other.  Three  times  had  Fleet  Foot  distanced 
this  Indian :  thrice  to  save  his  own  life — the  last  time — the 
present  one,  to  take  the  life  of  the  red  man.  Each  knew 
the  other.  Now  was  to  come  a  struggle  severer  than  any 
previously  decided  between  them.  The  Indian  was  the 
larger  man,  and  he  was,  perhaps,  better  skilled  in  the  use  of 
the  knife. 

The  savage  did  not  wait  for  his  foe  to  recover  from  his 
long  chase,  but  when  his  eye  had  run  over  the  frame  of  his 
antagonist  and  taken  in  the  distance  between  them,  he  sprang 
toward  him  fiercely,  aiming  a  violent  blow  with  his  knife. 
Fleet  Foot  dexterously  parried  it,  almost  at  the  same 
moment  giving  the  savage  a  left-handed  blow  which  stag 
gered  him.  Following  up  his  advantage,  Fleet  Foot  made  a 
thrust  at  the  Indian's  breast ;  the  red  man  caught  the  arm 
which  bore  a  knife  swiftly  toward  his  heart,  and  then  followed 
a  tight  wrestle — a  moment,  two  knives  gleamed  in  the  air — 
then  both  fell  upon  the  ground,  and  the  Indian  and  the 
hunter  were  each  struggling  to  escape  the  other's  grasp. 


110  Fleet  Foot. 

Fleet  Foot  was  borne  to  the  earth,  and  the  Indian,  striving  to 
keep  him  there,  exerted  himself  also  to  the  utmost  to  reach 
one  of  the  knives.  He  was  a  stronger  man  than  the  hunter 
—  he  had  a  great  advantage  over  him,  yet  the  hunter  held 
him  so  firmly,  he  could  not  reach  a  knife.  He  dare  not  re 
lease  his  hold  the  slightest,  lest  the  hunter  should  spring  to 
his  feet. 

His  powerful  knees  were  crushing  the  hunter's  breast  — 
his  brawny  hands  were  clenched  around  Fleet  Foot's  neck — 
a  gleam  of  triumph  danced  in  his  savage  eyes,  which  glared 
upon  Fleet  Foot's  blackening  face.  The  savage  felt  sure  of 
his  victim — his  fleet  and  daring  foe  :  this  wicked  joy  express 
ed  itself  in  every  feature  of  his  tawny  countenance,  and 
broke  upon  the  air  in  a  wild,  fiendish  laugh.  That  laugh  was 
meant  to  be  a  knell  for  the  hunter,  but  it  nerved  him  to  one 
great  struggle — a  struggle  in  which  all  his  energy  was  concen 
trated  —  in  which  every  muscle  was  strained  —  every  nerve 
stretched  ;  he  rose  partly  from  the  ground,  bearing  up  the 
athletic  savage,  who  lost  the  dangerous  grasp  by  which  he 
had  for  a  few  moments  been  almost  forcing  the  hunter's  eyes 
from  their  sockets  ;  but  Fleet  Foot  only  wasted  his  strength  in 
that  struggle — he  fell  back  upon  the  earth  completely  in  the 
power  of  the  infuriated  savage,  who  was  swift  to  perceive 
the  surest  and  quickest  mode  of  wreaking  his  passion.  He 
clenched  in  his  right  hand  one  of  the  knives  which  had  fall 
en  in  the  early  part  of  the  affray — he  brandished  it  over  his 
head  —  and  from  its  polished  blade  bright  reflections  were  a 
moment  cast,  as  it  hung  in  the  air. 

A  low,  shrill  whistle  might  have  been  heard  near  the  sav 
age  ;  the  gleaming  knife  fell,  but  the  savage  fell  with  it,  his 


Fleet  Foot.  in 

features  fixed  in  death,  with  that  fiendish  exultation  stamped 
upon  them,  which  had  nerved  Fleet  Foot  to  his  last  effort. 
That  whistle  was  from  the  swift  passage  of  a  rifle  ball  that 
lodged  in  the  Indian's  breast.  With  the  report  which  rang 
after  the  ball,  there  came  a  shout  that  lifted  Fleet  Foot  from 
his  prostrated  position. 

Mac  had  come  within  rifle  shot,  just  in  time  to  save  his 
friend's  life. 

Fleet  Foot  had  been  nearly  strangled,  and  was  much  ex 
hausted  ;  but  he  soon  rallied,  and  looking  at  the  form  of  his 
foe,  which  was  lying  beside  him,  he  said : 

"  It  was  a  tight  scuffle,  Mac,  by  powder,  and  I'd  been  in 
kingdom  come  now,  ef  it  hadn't  been  for  you." 

'•  That's  oncomfortable  true,"  answered  Mac.  "  You  brag 
about  runnin',  but  it  liked  to  lost  your  scalp  for  you  this 
time.  That  fellow  was  enough  for  you  on  a  race,  and  a  leetle 
too  much  in  a  fight." 

Fleet  Foot  and  Mac,  on  retracing  their  steps,  were  met 
by  the  other  hunters ;  then  were  joyful  meetings  which  need 
not  be  described — nor  scarcely  need  it  be  told,  that  when  the 
party  reached  the  fort  (which  it  did  early  the  following  day), 
there  were  immediate  preparations  for  a  backwoods  wedding, 
which  was  not  long  afterward  celebrated  in  a  rude,  but  for 
the  period,  distinguished  style. 

Fleet  Foot  figured  prominently  in  the  later    annals  of 

Kentucky,  and  was  subsequently  known  as  General . 

He  left  a  posterity  which  has  been  engaged  in  modern  poli 
tics  as  warmly  as  was  ever  their  brave  ancestor  in  pioneer 
enterprise. 


Hunter    Birty; 


OR    THE 


HALF-BREED  COLONY  OF  ILLINOIS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   MOUNTAIN   HOME. 

FROM  the  eastern  bank  of  one  of  those  swiftly  flowing 
streams  that  water  the  mountains  of  Western  Virginia,  there 
stretched,  many  years  ago,  a  narrow  path,  that  had  once 
been  a  highway  for  the  deer,  the  bear  and  the  Indian,  but 
which,  at  the  time  of  the  opening  of  our  story,  was  the  trail 
leading  to  a  hunter's  cabin,  from  which,  rising  with  the  sun 
every  morning,  might  be  faintly  seen,  far  up  on  the  moun 
tain,  a  thin  column  of  blue  smoke. 

I  would  not  assert  that  neither  the  moccasin  of  the  Indian, 
the  hoof  of  the  deer,  nor  the  ponderous  paw  of  the  bear, 
tracked  this  path  at  the  period  of  which  I  write  ;  but  I  record 
the  fact,  that  upon  the  haunts,  where  perhaps  they  had 
ranged  for  centuries,  unmolested  except  by  each  other, 
there  was  now  a  watchfulness  exercised,  which  led,  almost 
every  day,  to  the  thinning  of  their  numbers.  To  the  hunter 
they  were  all  "varmin." 

The  cabin  was  built  partly  in  the  rocks,  the  situation  hav 
ing  been  selected  for  its  advantages,  in  the  event  of  an  attack 
upon  it  by  Indians,  because  there  was  treasure  in  it  which 
the  hunter  knew  needed  strong  defense,  and  to  protect 
•which  he  would  sacrifice  his  life. 

(115) 


ll6  Hunter  Birty. 

He  was  a  man  whose  hair  had  been  thinned  and  whitened 
by  long  exposure  and  severe  hardship ;  and  he  was  a  woods 
man  practiced  in  all  the  arts  of  watchfuloess,  dexterity  and 
intrigue,  by  which  his  forest  foes  were  to  be  detected,  at 
tacked,  or  retreated  from. 

His  cabin  treasure  was  an  Indian  wife,  whom  he  had 
stolen  from  a  powerful  tribe  that  occupied  a  district  of  coun 
try  south-west  from  his  retreat,  in  what  is  now  geographically 
defined  as  the  State  of  Kentucky.  For  nearly  ten  years, 
hunted  from  fortress  to  fortress,  he  eluded  the  pursuit  of  his 
enemies — the  relatives  of  his  captive.  The  love  of  the 
hunter  and  his  wild-wood  wife  was  romantic  in  its  origin, 
but  was  true,  and  time  only  served  to  increase  their  mutual 
trust  and  confidence. 

The  hunter,  upon  an  expedition  of  observation  and  discov 
ery,  had  been  captured  by  a  party  of  Indians,  after  a  desper 
ate  resistance.  He  was  taken  to  their  camp  severely  wound 
ed,  and  placed  under  the  care  of  the  chief's  daughter,  that 
he  might  be  restored  to  health  and  strength,  as  a  victim  of 
torture  at  their  annual  war-dance. 

The  incantations  of  the  "  medicine  man "  of  the  tribe 
served  only  to  annoy  the  hunter ;  but  the  kind  attentions  of 
his  tawny  hostess  were  not  bestowed  in  vain.  He  endeav 
ored  to  learn  her  language,  and  soon  they  were  able  to  con 
verse  otherwise  than  by  signs.  Then  he  was  informed  of  his 
impending  fate,  and  then  he  learned  that  the  care  bestowed 
upon  him  by  the  chief's  daughter  sprang  more  from  the  in 
clinations  of  her  heart  than  from  the  commands  of  the  war 
riors,  who  had  confided  their  expected  victim  of  triumph  to 
her  skill  in  the  use  and  knowledge  of  the  virtues  of  roots  and 
herbs. 


Hunter  Birty.  117 

The  hunter  encouraged  the  Indian  maiden's  love,  and 
when  he  was  confident  that  the  ties  which  bound  her  to  him 
were  strong  enough,  he  planned  an  escape.  The  plan  was 
successfully  executed. 

No  marriage  ceremonies  united  the  hunter  and  the  young 
squaw.  He  simply  gave  her  his  word  that  she  should  dwell 
in  his  wigwam ;  and  he  would  be  her  protector.  She  was 
content,  believing  herself  what  civilized  society  understands 
by  the  term  wife ;  and  as  a  wife  she  should  be  regarded,  for 
the  hunter's  promise  was  to  him  law. 

Three  children  had  been  born  in  the  hunter's  cabin,  yet  at 
the  period  I  have  introduced  it,  it  had  but  two  inmates — the 
father  and  mother. 

The  hunter  had  visited  a  settlement  lying  eastward  of  the 
retreat  he  then  occupied,  about  one  hundred  miles.  The 
mother  was,  one  afternoon  during  his  absence,  gathering 
mountain  berries  with  her  children.  Two  of  them  happened 
to  stray  a  short  distance  from  her,  when  she  was  startled  by 
violent  screams.  With  a  mother's  instinct  and  energy,  she 
rushed  in  the  direction  whence  proceeded  the  sounds,  and 
saw  her  two  children — her  two  youngest  children — borne  into 
the  dark  forest  from  an  opening  where  they  had  been  gather 
ing  fruit.  She  knew  pursuit  would  be  idle,  and  she  em 
ployed  her  knowledge  of  Indian  habits  in  endeavoring  to 
protect  her  remaining  child,  the  eldest  son,  who  had  observed 
the  stealthy  approach  of  his  enemies,  and  was  shrewd  enough 
to  elude  them. 

For  many  days  the  disconsolate  mother  sat  trembling  in 
her  wigwam,  fearing  to  build  a  fire,  lest  the  ascending  smoke 
might  guide  some  foe  to  her  retreat,  and  thus  be  the  means 
of  depriving  her  of  the  only  solace  left  her.  She  had  recog- 


li8  Hunter  Birty. 

nized  the  Indians  that  had  stolen  the  children  for  whom  she 
mourned ;  they  belonged  to  the  tribe  she  had  deserted,  and 
she  presumed  them  to  be  agents  of  her  father,  who  would 
not  destroy  her  life,  but  would  rob  her  of  her  children,  in 
hopes  of  recalling  her  to  his  campfire  and  wigwam.  She 
had  therefore  no  fears  for  her  own  safety,  but  she  had  lively 
fears  for  the  safety  of  her  husband  and  the  child  that  wept 
with  her  in  her  desolate  home.  Every  unusual  sound  that 
reached  her  in  her  solitude,  she  feared  might  be  the  stealthy 
step  of  some  foe,  or  she  hoped  might  prove  the  signal  of  the 
hunter's  near  approach.  Yet  with  this  hope  was  mingled 
chilling  fear,  for  the  hunter  loved  his  children,  and  she  knew 
his  burst  of  passion,  at  finding  two  of  them  gone,  would  be 
terrible. 

He  returned  at  an  hour  when  the  wife  least  expected  him. 
It  was  early  morn.  He  had  traveled  all  night,  in  his  eager 
ness  to  reach  home,  as  if,  by  some  mysterious  agency,  he 
had  been  informed  of  the  misfortune  that  had  befallen  him. 
But  the  backwoodsman  of  that  day  knew  the  dangers  to 
which  his  home  was  always  exposed,  and  whenever  long  ab 
sent,  his  heart  beat  with  thrilling  emotion  on  his  return,  in 
dread  that  he  should  find,  where  had  been  his  cabin  or  his 
wigwam,  but  smouldering  embers,  in  which  whitened  the 
bones  of  all  who  were  dear  to  him  on  earth. 

The  hunter  gave  a  signal  as  he  approached  within  a  few 
yards  of  his  cabin.  It  was  unanswered.  It  had  never  be 
fore  failed  to  bring  forth  his  wife  and  children  to  bid  him 
welcome.  They  could  not  be  in  the  woods,  beyond  hearing, 
at  that  early  hour.  His  steps  quickened  and  his  breath 
grew  shorter ;  he  felt  that  the  fears  which  almost  unmanned 
him  were  well  grounded.  He  burst  open  the  cabin  doo: 


Hunter  Birty.  119 

there  sat  his  wife — crouching  from  view,  with  her  child  be 
side  her — the  very  picture  of  dread  and  despair.  She  had 
not  heard  the  hunter's  signal,  and  little  expecting  him  at 
that  hour,  had  been  surprised ;  she  knew  his  footstep,  but 
dared  not  meet  his  glance. 

The  hunter  seemed  to  comprehend,  from  his  wife's  appear 
ance,  that  his  children  had  been  torn  from  their  home,  for 
well  knew  he  that  thus  would  his  Indian  foes  wreak  ven 
geance  upon  him  at  the  first  opportunity.  Demanding,  in 
mingled  backwoods  English  and  mongrel  Indian,  an  explana 
tion  from  the  mother,  he  rushed  into  the  forest,  with  a  ter 
rible  oath  of  vengeance  upon  his  lip.  He  struck  off  through 
the  pathless  woods,  in  the  direction  which  he  supposed  would 
lead  him  to  the  principal  camp  of  the  tribe  of  which  his 
squaw's  father  was  chief.  It  was  distant  several  day's  jour 
ney.  He  took  no  rest,  and  partook  of  no  food  but  some 
dried  meat,  which  he  carried  in  a  pouch  by  his  side. 

He  reached  a  camp  the  second  day,  near  nightfall.  An 
inexperienced  woodsman  would  have  supposed  it  deserted, 
but  the  practiced  hunter  knew  better.  He  discovered  evi 
dences  of  recent  occupation,  and  he  believed  it  to  be  the 
rendezvous  of  a  small  party  of  Indians — perhaps  the  party 
that  had  stolen  his  children.  He  determined  to  watch. 

When  gloom  began  to  gather  thickly  in  the  forest,  the 
hunter  was  secreted  where,  with  his  rifle,  he  commanded  a 
complete  view  of  the  Indian  camp.  The  night  had  advanced 
several  hours,  and  yet  the  hunter  watched  without  token  of 
the  return  of  the  savages. 

The  anxious  father  was  about  to  take  up  his  eager  march 
through  the  woods,  when  the  snapping  of  a  twig  arrested  his 
attention.  Presently  he  discovered  objects  moving,  and  in 


12O  Hunter  Birty. 

a  few  minutes  he  was  satisfied  that  the  camp  was  that  night 
to  he  occupied.  A  fire  was  built,  and  by  its  light  he  saw 
four  Indians,  who  belonged  to  the  tribe  of  which  he  was  in 
pursuit.  He  could  not  restrain  manifestations  of  passion  and 
impatience,  but  he  was  too  old  a  hunter  to  attack  four  In 
dians  single-handed,  let  his  passion  be  ever  so  intense,  when 
there  was  hope  of  overcoming  them  by  stratagem. 

Nursing  his  passion  for  revenge,  the  hunter  waited  until 
the  Indians  slumbered.  When  their  camp  fire  burned  low, 
he  crept  near  the  Indians,  with  footsteps  as  noiseless  as  those 
with  which  the  wily  panther  approaches  its  destined  victim. 
He  was  armed  in  Indian  style.  With  his  tomahawk  he 
launched  two  of  his  foes  into  eternity,  without  waking  either 
from  his  slumber ;  the  third  one  made  a  sudden  movement 
as  the  hunter  aimed  a  blow  at  his  head,  and  was  only  slightly 
wounded — with  a  fierce  yell  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  but  the 
hunter  was  prepared  for  his  movement,  and  dispatched  him 
with  his  knife  before  he  could  discover  the  number  or  char 
acter  of  his  assailants.  The  fourth  savage,  aroused  by  the 
yell  of  his  companion,  would  have  fled  precipitately,  but  the 
hunter  confronted  him,  and  a  desperate  struggle  ensued. 
He  was  an  athletic  savage — in  ordinary  circumstances  more 
than  the  hunter's  equal,  but  now  he  was  confused  and  unable 
to  employ  his  strength  to  the  best  advantage,  while  every 
nerve  and  muscle  in  the  hunter's  body  was  at  its  highest 
tension,  and  he  hurled  his  antagonist  to  the  ground  as  if  he 
had  been  a  child. 

The  savage  knew  his  fate.  He  was  too  proud  to  plead  for 
mercy,  even  had  he  thought  such  a  plea  would  avail  him 
anything — but  the  hunter,  with  his  tomahawk  suspended  over 
him,  offered  him  his  life  if  he  would  tell  what  had  become  of 


Hunter  Birty.  121 

the  children  his  tribe  had  stolen  a  few  days  previous.  At 
first  the  savage  denied  all  knowledge  of  the  children,  but,  at 
length,  informed  the  hunter  that  one  of  the  Indians  he  had 
murdered  stole  them — that  they  had  been  taken  to  the  camp 
of  the  chief,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Ohio,  and  that  it  was  the 
design  of  the  party  he  had  that  night  vanquished,  assisted 
by  his  wife's  brother  and  a  warrior  who  had  aspired  to  the 
possession  of  her  master's  wigwam,  to  watch  around  his  cabin 
until  they  had  an  opportunity  to  carry  away  with  them  the 
hunter's  wife  and  remaining  child  ;  or,  if  not  able  to  accom 
plish  all  this,  at  least  get  possession  of  the  boy,  and  join  the 
main  body  of  the  tribe  at  a  southern  camp,  whence  they 
would  cross  the  great  river,  beyond  the  pursuit  of  the  hunter 
or  any  party  he  might  rally. 

Every  threat  or  process  of  torture  the  hunter  could  de 
vise  failed  to  wrest  from  the  Indian  any  information  in 
regard  to  the  foes  the  hunter  had  not  met.  Knowing  the 
cunning  and  desperation  of  the  warriors,  he  had  reason  to 
tremble  with  fear  that,  during  his  absence  from  home,  both 
his  wife  and  child  might  be  wrested  from  him.  He  dare  not 
give  the  Indian,  in  his  power,  his  liberty,  lest  he  might  be 
pursued  by  him  and  treacherously  shot ;  but  he  had  promised 
to  spare  his  life,  and  could  not  violate  his  word. 

With  strips  of  deer-skin,  prepared  for  thongs — always  a 
part  of  the  hunter's  equipment — he  bound  the  "  red  varmint,'' 
as  he  termed  him,  hand  and  foot,  and  leaving  him  to  his 
fate,  retraced  his  steps  towards  his  cabin  with  as  much 
eagerness  as  he  had  traveled  from  it. 

When  he  approached  within  a  few  miles  of  his  home,  such 
was  the  fury  which  seemed  to  possess  him,  that  he  was  reck 
less  of  consequences,  and  rushed  madly  forward,  heedless  of 


122  Hunter  Birty. 

all  those  nice  observations  which  would  have  protected  him 
from  savage  intrigue.  Then  would  he  have  fallen  an  easy 
prey  to  a  wily  redskin,  but  none  crossed  his  path.  Once 
more  he  stood  before  his  cabin,  impressed  with  a  dreadful 
sense  of  outrage  and  misfortune.  The  door  was  fastened — 
his  impatience  could  brook  no  restraint — he  burst  it  open — 
he  found  his  cabin  uninhabited. 

With  one  mad  yell  he  rushed  back  into  the  forest. 
Whither  he  would  have  gone,  what  fate  would  have  befallen 
him,  the  imagination  may  not  conceive,  had  not  a  piercing 
scream  arrested  his  furious  career.  The  mother  at  least  was 
not  a  victim  or  a  captive.  The  father  and  mother,  tender 
only  in  their  own  love  and  in  the  love  of  their  children,  met, 
mingling  their  tears  ;  with  the  hunter  they  were  tears  of 
agony  rather  than  tears  of  simple  grief — agony  that  he  had 
not  been  able  to  glut  his  revenge — that  he  had  not  met  the 
relentless  savages  who  had  desolated  his  home. 

His  suspicions  had  been  realized.  The  mother's  savage 
brother,  and  more  than  savage  lover,  in  his  absence  had 
dragged  away,  to  their  hidden  haunts,  his  eldest  born,  and 
would  have  dragged  the  mother  with  them,  but  they  feared 
pursuit.  They  did  not  murder  her,  for  part  of  their  scheme 
was  to  glut  revenge  by  inflicting  torment.  She  had  endeav 
ored  to  follow  the  ruthless  invaders,  but  dreadful  agony  and 
thought  of  the  husband  who  would  return — from  pursuit  of 
other  foes — for  ought  she  knew,  with  the  children  first  torn 
from  her,  and  find  his  home  deserted,  chained  her  to  the 
scene  of  her  sufferings. 

From  that  hour  the  hunter  was  a  man  of  silence  and  sor 
row.  He  nursed  a  revenge  that  was  consuming  his  vitality, 
yet  he  never  seemed  more  capable  of  the  endurance  of  hard- 


Hunter  Birty.  123 

ship — more  successful  in  the  taking  of  valuable  game.  He 
dare  not  absent  himself  a  single  night  from  his  cabin,  for  fear 
the  companion  of  his  deep  grief  would  be  torn  from  him,  and 
he  resolved  to  change  the  location  of  his  retreat. 

His  intimate  acquaintance  "with  the  country  enabled  him 
to  select  a  spot  advantageously.  He  chose  the  site  I  have 
described  in  the  opening  of  this  chapter.  Thither  he  imme 
diately  emigrated,  and  labored  diligently  to  construct  winter 
quarters  out  of  bark,  poles,  and  the  skins  of  wild  beasts. 

His  cabin  stood  at  the  mouth  of  a  shallow  cave,  into  which, 
when  pursuing  a  bear,  the  hunter  had  once  been  driven  by 
a  violent  storm — a  storm  which  bowed  the  ancient  trees  on 
the  mountain,  and  filled  the  air  with  branches  twisted  from 
their  massive  trunks. 

Hidden  by  thick  foliage  and  overhanging  rocks,  the  hunt 
er's  retreat  was  one  not  easily  discovered,  while  it  com 
manded  a  widely  extended  view  of  valleys,  rivers  and 
mountains. 

Here  the  hunter,  with  some  assurance  of  safety,  could 
leave  his  wife,  for  he  never  would  consent  that  she  should 
accompany  him  on  any  of  his  lengthy  hunting  expeditions. 
He  .was  absent  sometimes  many  weeks,  and  he  did  not  often 
return  without  numerous  scalps  at  his  belt,  but  he  never 
brought  to  the  mother  any  satisfactory  tidings  of  her  lost 
children. 

Several  winters  had  left  their  snows  on  the  secret  path 
that  led  to  his  retreat,  and  summer  had  come  again,  when, 
one  sultry  evening,  the  hunter  toiled  up  the  mountain,  after 
an  absence  from  home  of  more  than  a  month.  He  was  weary 
of  limb  and  weary  of  heart.  He  had  wandered  farther  than 
usual,  in  the  hope  that  he  might  find  some  Indian  or  white 


124  Hunter  Birty. 

man,  who  could  give  him  tidings  of  his  lost  treasure  ;  that 
hope  was  not  realized,  and  the  wretched  man  felt  that  his 
hold  on  the  things  of  earth  was  growing  weaker  every  day 
— hope  alone  had  thus  far  sustained  him,  and  hope  was  dying. 

His  footsteps  that  evening  were  not  unobserved.  For 
several  days,  as  he  wandered  listlessly  through  the  forest, 
his  course  had  been  tracked  by  a  skulking  enemy — now  the 
eagle  eyes  of  that  enemy  were  upon  his  movements. 

As  the  hunter  approached  his  home,  his  forest  instincts  be 
came  acute  again,  and  he  exercised  his  usual  caution  in  con 
cealing  traces  of  his  progress,  that  no  foe  might  find  easy 
access  to  his  hiding  place.  The  shades  of  night  gathered 
on  the  mountain,  ere  the  Indian  lost  sight  of  the  hunter,  but 
then  the  gloom  gave  the  hunter  opportunities  of  conceal 
ment,  which  he  never  failed  to  embrace  when  near  home ; 
and  he  was  lost  to  his  pursuer. 

The  hunter  reached  his  cabin,  to  sit  down  with  a  disconso 
late  companion,  and  mourn  in  silence ;  and  the  Indian 
stealthily  and  swiftly  descended  the  mountain,  attended 
by  the  doleful  howl  of  numerous  wolves,  answering  each  other 
from  thicket  to  thicket  and  from  rock  to  rock. 


CHAPTER    II. 

AN    EXPECTED    ATTACK. 

THE  glories  of  autumn  were  on  the  forest.  The  valley 
was  in  deep  shadow,  but  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  illumi 
nated  the  mountain's  crest.  Light  clouds  of  smoke,  which 
had  risen  from  the  hunter's  cabin,  hung  in  the  tops  of  the 
trees,  among  whose  withering  foliage  the  evening  wind 
moved,  with  a  sound  like  the  mournful  music  of  thickly  fall 
ing  rain- drops.  The  hunter,  with  his  sad  wife  beside  him, 
looked  upon  the  valley  until  night  stretched  her  "sable 
mantle"  over  it,  and  far  away,  where  the  firmament  seemed 
to  hang  on  a  level  with  his  vision,  he  could  see  nothing  but 
the  bright  stars.  They  led  his  thoughts  to  the  "  hunting 
grounds  "  that,  according  to  Indian  tradition,  are  prepared 
for  good  Spirits ;  and  there,  he  knew,  if  never  again  on 
earth,  he  should  surely  meet  the  dear  ones  that  had  been  so 
cruelly  torn  from  their  home.  The  father  and  mother  had 
that  night  calculated  the  respective  ages  of  their  children. 
The  father  said,  had  the  oldest  been  spared  him,  he  would 
have  been  able  to  chase  the  bear  and  the  deer ;  and  the 
mother  had  dwelt  upon  the  comfort  her  younger  children 
would  have  been  to  her,  while  assisting  her  to  prepare  for 
•winter  their  clothing  of  skins  and  furs.  With  such  thoughts 

(125) 


126  Hunter  Birty. 

in  their  minds,  both  had  seated  themselves  near  the  hearth 
stone,  on  which  were  a  few  fading  embers,  apparently  listen 
ing  to  the  pensive  wailing  that  seemed  to  float  among  the 
boughs,  which,  in  summer,  drooped  with  clustering  leaves 
over  the  front  of  their  cabin. 

Suddenly  the  hunter  started  to  his  feet,  and  all  his  senses 
seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  an  effort  to  hear  every  sound  that 
might  be  produced  within  half  a  mile. 

His  wife  knew  that  he  suspected  his  Indian  foes  had  dis 
covered  his  hiding  place,  and  were  about  to  attack  it.  Tak 
ing  his  rifle  from  its  accustomed  place,  and  examining  the 
priming,  he  stepped  softly  across  the  cabin,  in  the  direction 
opposite  that  whence  the  sounds  that  alarmed  him  had  pro 
ceeded  ;  then  he  climbed  a  rude  ladder,  which  he  had  con 
structed  in  a  fissure  in  the  rock  behind  his  cabin,  and  in  a 
few  moments  he  stood,  himself  shielded  from  view,  even  in 
daylight,  where  he  could  look  down  upon  the  path  leading  to 
his  cabin,  and  upon  the  very  spot  where  he  imagined  his 
supposed  enemy  had  been.  The  sky  was  clear  and  the  stars 
shone  brightly ;  the  hunter  discovered  an  object  near  the 
cabin  door,  but  whether  it  was  a  savage  Indian  or  a  savage 
beast,  he  could  not  decide.  Cautiously  he  crept  near  the 
object,  and,  at  length,  he  satisfied  himself  that  it  was  a 
human  being.  Whether  friend  or  foe  it  was  now  his  task  to 
ascertain.  He  presumed  it  a  foe,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
with  all  his  backwoods  shrewdness  he  watched  and  waited  to 
see  whether  any  signals  were  conveyed  to  or  from  the  spy. 
Several  hours  elapsed,  and  the  hunter  had  detected  nothing. 
He  dare  not  explore  the  woods  or  rocks  around  his  cabin,  for 
fear  he  might  fall  a  victim  to  some  foe  in  ambush  ;  but  he 
determined,  at  all  hazard,  to  know  the  character  of  the  indi- 


Hunter  Birty.  127 

vidual  at  his  door.  Returning  into  the  cabin,  he  described 
the  state  of  affairs  to  his  wife,  armed  her  with  his  tomahawk, 
and  taking  his  unsheathed  hunter's  knife  in  his  hand,  he 
suddenly  drew  open  the  cabin  door,  grasped  the  object  lying 
before  it,  and  dragged  it  within  the  enclosure,  re-fastening 
the  door  as  he  did  so.  Then  arousing  his  captive  from  deep 
slumber,  he  saw  before  him,  what  at  first  appearance  he  took 
for  an  Indian  boy,  about  twelve  years  of  age  ;  but  no  sooner 
did  the  youth  fairly  recover  from  the  surprise  consequent 
upon  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  treated,  than  he 
cried,  in  the  Indian  tongue,  "  You  won't  kill  me,  I  am  not 
Indian." 

The  hunter  astonished  the  boy  by  straining  him  to  his 
breast,  and  he  cried — 

"  It  is  the  first  one,  the  biggest  boy." 

The  mother  falling  upon  her  knees,  beside  the  father  and 
son,  poured  forth,  in  incoherent  sentences,  a  torrent  of  thanks 
to  the  Great  Spirit,  who  had  thus  mysteriously,  and,  as  she 
supposed,  supernaturally  restored  her  first-born  to  her. 

The  first  paroxysm  of  joy  over,  the  hunter's  forest  instincts 
became  active  again,  and  he  demanded  the  manner  in  which 
the  youth  had  reached  the  cabin.  The  conversation  between 
father  and  son  was  a  dramatic  one.  I  cannot  give  it  in  the 
language  I  write,  and  must  content  myself  with  stating  its 
substance. 

The  hunter  learned  that  his  son,  after  he  was  torn  from 
his  mother,  was  dragged  many  miles  south-west,  where  he 
was  put  under  the  charge  of  an  Indian,  whom,  by  the  de 
scription,  the  hunter  knew  to  be  the  same  individual  he  had 
left  at  the  camp,  where  he  had  killed  those  who  stole  his 
children.  The  boy  roamed  with  the  tribe,  but  was  never 


128  Hunter  Birty. 

allowed  to  be  out  of  sight  of  this  Indian  and  his  squaw,  until 
a  few  weeks  previous  to  the  time  at  which  he  was  restored 
to  his  home,  when  the  Indian  left  the  camp  and  did  not 
return  for  many  days.  For  the  first  time  he  then  took  the 
boy  on  a  long  hunting  excursion.  They  were  absent  from 
the  main  body  of  the  tribe  a  number  of  days.  Again  the 
Indian  commanded  the  boy  to  follow  him,  and  he  was  brought 
into  the  vicinity  of  the  mountain  on  which  he  had  found  his 
father's  retreat.  The  Indian  told  him  that  he  brought  him 
to  this  mountain  that  he  might  find  his  father — that  he  should 
leave  him,  return  to  the  camp  and  report  him  dead.  He 
had  wandered  on  the  mountain  many  days,  but  saw  no  signs 
of  human  life,  until  on  the  evening  we  have  described ; 
while  seeking  a  place  in  \vhich  to  spend  the  night  safely,  he 
discovered  a  thin  wreath  of  sjpoke  ascending  from  the  tops 
of  the  trees ;  he  traveled  towards  the  point  from  which  he 
supposed  it  to  proceed,  until  night  overtook  him,  and  with 
out  knowing  that  human  beings  were  so  near  him,  he  had 
lain  down  in  the  dark  and  had  fallen  into  the  sleep  from 
which  his  father  aroused  him.  He  had  lately  heard  of  the 
children,  who  were  torn  from  home  before  him,  but  he  had 
not  seen  them  since  the  first  week  of  his  captivity. 

A  great  burden  was  lifted  from  the  hearts  of  the  hunter 
and  his  wife.  He  believed  that  the  kindness  shown  him  by 
the  Indian  who  had  returned  his  son,  was  an  example  of  In 
dian  gratitude  for  which  he  should  be  truly  thankful,  although 
he  could  not  regard  the  debt  the  Indian  owed  him  as  a  very 
heavy  one,  for  he  left  him  but  a  slim  chance  for  life.  He 
could  construe  the  return  of  his  boy  in  no  other  manner, 
however,  and  he  lived  in  hope  that  his  other  children  would 


Hunter  Birty.  129 

some  day  be  returned,  yet  he  was  determined  to  relax  no 
effort  to  recover  them.  Father  and  son  could  now  hunt  to 
gether — he  had  a  companion  whom  he  could  take  with  him 
in  his  long  marches,  or  leave  to  guard  his  cabin. 

The  hunter  thought  often  of  what  his  boy  had  said  about 
the  smoke  that  had  served  as  the  beacon  to  direct  him,  and 
he  never  allowed  an  evening  to  pass  without  kindling  fire 
where  its  smoke  might  ascend  as  it  did  on  the  night  the  boy 
returned.  Summer  and  winter  there  was  always  smoke  over 
the  hunter's  cabin  at  sunrise  and  sunset,  for  he  knew  that  if 
he  had  a  friend  in  the  Indian  camp,  who  ever  came  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  mountain,  he  would  observe  this  peculiarity, 
and  understand  it  as  a  land-mark. 

The  hunter  did  not  know  the  true  character  of  this  Indian. 
He  was  not  aware  of  his  reputation  as  a  cunning  fellow  whose 
delight  was  intrigue. 

Some  reader  may  think,  for  a  man  of  wandering  life  in  a 
country  infested  with  treacherous  Indians  and  savage  beasts, 
in  whose  blood  his  hands  were  often  imbued,  the  hunter  mani 
fested  unusual  affection  for  his  offspring.  Not  greater  for 
them  was  his  tenderness  or  concern,  than  the  tenderness  or 
concern  of  the  panther  for  her  cubs. 

The  keen  observer  of  human  motive,  well  knows,  that  be 
neath  a  cold  and  rough  exterior  often  beats  a  warm  heart, 
and  it  is  a  matter  of  reliable  history,  that  many  of  the  early 
Western  Pioneers — the  men  who  drove  back  the  wild  beast 
and  the  skulking  Indian,  and  turned  the  wilderness  into  cul 
tivated  fields,  were  men  of  the  kindest  nature,  and  most  be 
nevolent  impulses. 

While  they  were  valiant  in  defense  of  their  homes  and 
9 


130  Hunter  Birty. 

relentless  in  their  vengeance  upon  those  who  injured  their 
families,  they  were  ever  ready  to  succor  the  needy  —  assist 
the  unfortunate — and  sympathize  with  the  suffering. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE  VOW. 

SNOWS  that  had  fallen  lightly  in  the  valleys,  but  were  deep 
enough  in  the  mountain  glens  to  afford  the  hunter  paths  by 
vrhich  he  tracked  to  their  hiding  places  the  animals  necessary 
to  his  support,  had  long  since  melted,  and  small  streams  were 
rushing  in  mad  currents,  roaring  among  the  ravines.  Birds, 
as  Lamartine  says,  "  the  poetry  of  song — the  hymn  of  air," 
were  picking  soft  buds  from  low  bushes,  while  they  looked 
up  to  the  spreading  branches  above  them,  and  rejoiced  in  the 
promise  of  green  leaves  and  bright  flowers.  Throughout  all 
nature  there  was 

"  A  sense  of  renovation 
Of  freshness  aiid  of  health." 

The  hunter,  reviewing  a  season  of  comparative  quiet, 
cherished  a  fierce  determination  to  shrink  from  neither  ex 
posure  nor  toil  in  his  dreary  search  for  tidings  of  his  lost  ones. 
For  the  first  time  since  the  return  of  his  boy,  he  went  upon 
an  expedition  which,  if  pursued  according  to  his  plan,  would 
keep  him  from  home  several  weeks.  He  had  instructed  the 
youth  in  the  mysteries  of  forest  life,  and  warning  him  to  be 
watchful,  he  felt  confident  that  the  boy  would  not  unwarily 
fall  into  serious  difficulty.  It  was  one  of  the  hunter's  most 

(131) 


132  Hunter  Birty. 

impressive  injunctions,  that  he  should  not  wander  far  from  the 
cabin.  The  boy  had  his  father's  restless  disposition,  and  this 
was  the  most  difficult  command  for  him  to  obey,  yet  such 
was  the  spirit  the  father  had  infused  into  him  toward  the 
Indians,  who  at  the  first  opportunity  would  drag  his  mother 
back  to  the  wigwam  she  had  deserted  for  his  father's  love, 
that  even  this  command  he  seldom  disobeyed  ;  indeed  such 
was  the  mother's  anxiety  in  regard  to  him,  that  he  was  sel 
dom  allowed  to  be  out  of  her  sight  for  many  hours  in  suc 
cession.  One  day  he  detected  traces  of  a  bear  near  the 
cabin.  They  led  down  the  mountain — he  followed  the  track, 
in  hopes  of  overtaking  the  animal,  but  more  in  the  hope  of 
meeting  his  father,  whose  return  was  now  daily  expected. 
He  lost  the  track  which  he  had  followed,  and  late  in  the  af 
ternoon  sat  down  near  a  path  he  supposed  his  father  would 
travel  on  his  return.  He  had  watched  a  short  time,  when 
his  quick  ear  detected  the  approach  of  some  being,  but  not 
along  the  path.  Seeking  a  hiding  place  he  looked  anxiously 
for  the  friend  or  foe  that  was  drawing  near.  Presently  he 
was  able  to  discover  that  it  was  an  Indian,  and  soon  he  saw 
that  it  was  the  Indian  who  had  restored  him  to  his  parents. 
With  an  impulse  of  gratitude  the  boy  stepped  from  his  hiding 
place,  and  boldly  advanced  to  meet  the  savage,  who  sprang 
behind  a  tree,  as  the  youth  came  in  sight,  but,  in  a  moment, 
recognizing  him,  gave  him  apparently  an  honest,  heartfelt 
welcome. 

Night  was  approaching,  and  the  youth  not  forgetting  his 
mother's  anxiety  at  his  protracted  absence,  told  his  savage 
companion  that  he  must  return  home,  and,  as  they  wished  to 
converse  together,  the  Indian  accompanied  him.  They  had 
proceeded  some  distance  when  the  Indian  refused  to  go  any 


Hunter  Birty.  133 

farther,  for  fear  they  might  meet  the  hunter  and  a  dreadful 
fray  ensue.  The  boy  told  the  Indian  then  of  his  father's 
absence,  and  of  his  feeling  toward  him,  who  had  been  the 
means  of  restoring  his  child.  At  this  information  the  sav 
age's  countenance  contracted  with  a  smile  which  expressed 
the  shrewd  deceit  of  his  character,  and  he  walked  on  without 
hesitancy  until  nearly  sunset.  The  boy  pointing  to  a  column 
of  smoke  rising  among  the  trees  around  the  cabin,  related 
the  service  it  had  rendered  him  in  finding  home,  and  told  his 
father's  determination  in  regard  to  it,  on  account  of  that  ser 
vice.  The  Indian  took  leave  of  the  boy,  assigning  as  a 
reason  that  he  had  already  been  too  long  absent  from  the 
party  that  had  accompanied  him  into  the  vicinity. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  boy  made  glad  his  mother's  heart  by 
appearing  before  her  unharmed.  While  he  told  his  mother 
about  his  afternoon  adventure,  the  savage  he  had  met  stood 
in  sight  of  the  cabin.  He  marked  well  its  situation,  and  not 
until  he  felt  satisfied  that  he  could  approach  it  in  the  darkest 
night,  did  he  retrace  his  steps.  When  he  had  walked  half 
an  hour,  he  stood  before  a  fire,  around  which,  wrapped  in 
their  blankets,  lay  ten  others  of  his  tribe.  They  were  im 
mediately  aroused.  The  new  comer  held  an  animated  con 
versation  with  one  who  was  the  leader  of  the  band.  With 
the  hunter's  pretended  friend  as  a  guide,  in  Indian  file,  the 
whole  party  then  began  to  ascend  the  mountain. 

The  young  hunter  slumbered  on  his  rude  couch,  while  the 
mother  waited  with  sleepless  eyes  and  attentive  ears,  for  the 
signal  which  should  announce  the  return  of  the  lord  of  the 
cabin.  She  fancied  she  heard  approaching  footsteps,  and  she 
arose  and  went  to  the  door  to  listen.  Immediately  she  was 
alarmed  by  a  violent  knocking.  The  young  hunter  was 


134  Hunter  Birty. 

aroused,  and  he  demanded  who  was  at  the  door.  He  was 
answered  in  the  Indian  tongue : 

"  The  friend  you  left  a  little  while  ago  in  the  forest.  I 
have  lost  my  companions.  I  am  faint  and  weary.  You  will 
not  refuse  me  food  and  rest — I  have  been  wounded  by  a  fall 
in  the  dark,  and  my  strength  fails  me." 

"  You  are  alone,"  said  the  boy, u  and  would  not  deceive  us. " 

"  Have  I  not  too  often  befriended  you  to  be  now  suspected  ? 
Why  did  I  liberate  you  from  captivity,  and  restore  you  to 
your  parents,  at  the  risk  of  the  vengeance  of  my  tribe  ?" 

"  Do  not  trust  him,"  said  the  mother.  "  We  know  not 
that  it  is  the  friendly  Indian." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  boy,  "  I  know  it  is ;  I  know  his 
voice." 

"  By  the  Great  Spirit  I  swear  I  would  not  deceive  you," 
replied  the  Indian,  as  he  heard  the  conversation  of  the  mother 
and  son.  "  You  will  not  refuse  a  cup  of  water!  I  will  sleep 
at  your  door  till  morning — you  can  see  then  I  have  told  you 
no  lie." 

.The  youth  had  confidence  in  the  Indian,  and  could  not  re 
sist  the  benevolent  impulse  which  dictated  compliance  with 
the  savage's  request ;  still  he  was  determined  to  be  watchful, 
and  arming  himself  with  a  huge  knife,  he  removed  a  portion 
of  the  fastenings  of  the  cabin  door ;  instantly  it  was  burst 
open,  and  the  treacherous  red-skin,  with  his  party,  rushed 
into  the  cabin. 

"  We  have  come,"  said  the  leader  of  the  Indians,  (who 
was  the  brother  of  the  hunter's  wife,  and  now  the  chief  of 
the  tribe,  his  father  being  dead,)  "  to  take  back  the  fugitive 
squaw  and  her  papoose  to  the  wigwam  she  deserted  for  our 


Hunter  Birty.  135 

enemy.  He  has  slain  many  of  her  kindred.  His  blood 
shall  yet  stain  the  leaves  of  the  forest.  You  must  go." 

"  You  are  not  my  kindred.  You  are  my  foes.  You  may 
take  my  body — the  Great  Spirit  will  take  my  spirit ;"  re 
turned  the  hunter's  wife,  brandishing  a  tomahawk  in  a 
manner  which  showed  that  she  did  not  speak  idle  words. 

"  A  squaw  defies  us !"  said  the  brother  of  the  hunter's 
wife.  "  We  have  no  time  to  waste." 

The  chief  rushed  towards  the  hunter's  wife,  and  the  false 
friend  grasped  the  boy.  A  struggle  ensued.  The  squaw, 
with  uplifted  tomahawk,  for  a  moment  kept  her  savage 
brother  at  bay,  while  the  other  Indian  endeavored  to  wrest 
from  the  boy  a  large  knife,  with  which  he  was  armed.  By 
a  glimmering  light  from  the  cabin  fire,  the  dusky  forms  of 
the  leading  Indians,  with  their  allies,  grouped  at  the  cabin 
door,  were  to  be  seen  for  an  instant,  in  the  position  I  have 
described  :  in  a  second  all  was  changed. 

"  Strike,"  cried  a  firm  voice,  in  a  language  all  understood ; 
"  kill  him  as  quick  as  you  would  a  wild-cat." 

The  hunter  stood  in  his  cabin.  He  had  impetuously 
dashed  through  the  guards  at  the  door.  He  saw  the  Indian 
who  menaced  his  wife,  and  before  he  had  time  fairly  to  rec 
ognize  the  hunter,  gave  him  a  blow  which  caused  him  to  reel 
and  fall  helpless  upon  the  ground  ;  but  in  that  fall  the  Indian 
expressed  the  accumulated  savageness  of  his  nature  and  his 
passion  for  revenge.  His  knife  drank  the  blood  of  his  sister. 
She  fell,  with  a  cry  for  help,  upon  the  body  of  her  brutal 
relative. 

With  a  full  sense  of  his  situation  swelling  his  heart,  quick 
ening  his  pulses,  bracing  his  nerves  and  contracting  his 
muscles,  the  hunter  met  those  who  rushed  upon  him  to 


136  Hunter  Birty. 

avenge  the  death  of  their  chief.  He  fought  for  his  home, 
for  his  children,  and  for  the  revenge  that  had  been  consum 
ing  his  life  for  years,  and  he  fought  with  remarkable  power 
and  desperation.  He  saw  not  his  boy  —  he  knew  not  what 
had  been  his  fate,  but  he  knew  that  before  him  lay  four  In 
dians  whom  his  powerful  arm  had  slain,  and  still,  though  los 
ing  blood  from  a  number  of  severe  wounds,  he  fought  on. 
The  Indians,  without  their  leader,  without  the  animating  spirit 
that  led  them  to  the  hunter's  cabin,  began  to  give  way. 
Furiously  the  hunter  pressed  upon  them,  and  only  two  es 
caped  without  serious  injury.  Among  the  dead  were  the 
hunter's  chief  foes,  the  false  friend  and  his  wife's  brother, 
and  among  the  dead  also,  as  he  believed,  was  that  wife,  for 
whom  he  had  fought  so  valiantly. 

The  hunter  pursued  the  savages  a  few  steps  beyond  the 
cabin  door,  then  staggered  back,  and,  exhausted  with  the  loss 
of  blood,  fell  across  his  threshold.  He  knew  that  he  should 
die  —  he  had  not  seen  his  boy  in  the  fray  —  how  joyful  was 
the  hope  that  he  lived  and  might  avenge  the  wrongs  of  his 
father  and  mother,  perhaps  be  the  means  of  liberating  the 
children  so  long  searched  for. 

The  father,  with  an  effort  to  collect  his  failing  strength, 
called  his  boy.  His  hopes  fell  when  there  was  no  answer, 
but  again  he  called,  and  then  his  hopes  rose  again,  when 
there  came  a  firm  response.  Crawling  from  a  hiding  place, 
where  he  had  lain  with  a  wound  on  his  right  arm,  which  had 
disabled  it,  the  boy  crept  towards  his  father.  The  dying 
hunter  took  the  youth's  hand,  and  eloquent,  even  in  the  mea 
gre  language  used  between  them,  told  the  boy  of  all  the 
hardships  he  had  suffered  on  account  of  his  feud  with  the 


Hunter  Birty.  137 

tribe  of  Indians  to  which  his  mother  had  belonged,  and  then 
he  said  to  him  : 

"  The  pale  faces  are  our  friends.  Soon  the  red  varmints 
will  be  driven  from  these  vallies  and  mountains  —  the  pale 
faces  will  dwell  in  them.  Go  among  the  pale  faces — join 
those  who  would  drive  back  the  red-skins — have  no  mercy  for 
them — avenge  your  father's  and  your  mother's  death — and 
by  the  Great  Spirit  swear  you  will  seek,  and  if  alive,  liberate 
your  kindred  in  bondage  —  if  dead,  exterminate  their  de 
stroyers.  Never  forget  your  father's  dying  command.  Swear!" 

The  boy  took  the  oath  as  his  father  administered  it  to  him 
— and  then  the  hunter  said, 

"  Let  me  die  in  my  cabin." 

With  his  last  energies,  he  dragged  himself  into  his  cabin, 
near  the  spot  where  lay  his  wife's  body.  And  there  with  a 
convulsive  clutch  of  his  boy's  hand  the  brave  hunter  took  his 
last  breath. 

Scenting  blood,  a  band  of  wolves  came  to  the  cabin,  and 
dolefully  howled  while  the  young  hunter  watched.  They 
glutted  their  appetites  upon  the  bodies  of  the  Indians  which 
had  fallen  at  the  cabin  door,  yet  the  boy  heeded  them  not. 

When  the  grey  mist  of  the  morning  began  to  gather  upon 
the  mountain's  summit,  the  young  hunter  had  secured  the 
cabin,  so  that  he  knew  the  bodies  of  his  parents  were  safe 
from  the  ravages  of  the  animals  that  would  for  many  nights 
howl  their  requiem,  and  when  the  sun  began  to  dispel  the 
mists,  with  his  father's  rifle,  knife  and  tomahawk  and  hunt 
er's  coat,  the  boy  wound  his  way  down  the  mountain,  at  the 
foot  of  which  he  knew  a  path  that  would  lead  him  to  a  set 
tlement  where  his  father  had  traded,  and  which  had  often 
been  described  to  him. 


138  Hunter  Birty. 

One  of  those  whom  the  young  hunter  believed  to  have 
been  killed,  arose  from  among  the  corpses  in  the  ill-fated 
cabin  and  sought  anxiously  for  traces  of  his  footsteps.  The 
youth  had  feared  pursuit,  and  the  "  signs  "  of  his  progress 
were  ingeniously  obliterated,  until  he  felt  himself  safe. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

NEW  FRIENDS. 

IT  was  a  hazardous  undertaking  for  that  youth,  then  not 
eighteen  years  of  age,  with  no  companions  but  his  rifle,  his 
tomahawk  and  his  knife,  to  plunge  into  the  unbroken  wilder 
ness  threatened  at  every  step  with  foes  seeking  human  blood; 
but  he  had  no  alternative,  and  he  was  accustomed  to  hazard 
ous  enterprises — the  dangers  of  the  forest  were  well  under 
stood  by  him,  and  he  feared  not  to  encounter  them. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  men's  characters  never  devel 
op  till  they  are  thrown  upon  their  own  resources.  The  young 
hunter  has  yet  to  develop  his  character,  and  in  the  pathless 
woods,  with  no  counsellor,  no  companion,  and  a  solemn  vovr 
to  fulfill,  he  was  indeed  thrown  upon  his  own  resources. 

He  had  often  heard  his  father  talk  of  a  settlement  of 
whites  northeast  of  their  mountain  retreat.  Thitherward  he 
bent  his  steps.  He  had  wandered  many  days  along  rushing 
streams  and  through  dense  woods,  when  he  rested  one  even 
ing  near  a  spring  gushing  from  massive  and  towering  rocks. 
He  prepared  to  render  palatable  portions  of  a  deer  he  had 
shot,  and  as  he  stood  holding  a  piece  of  the  meat,  hunter 
fashion,  over  a  brisk  fire,  was  startled  by  a  slight  noise  behind 
him.  Before  he  could  turn  to  ascertain  its  cause  he  was 

'139) 


140  Hunter  Birty. 

grasped  by  two  powerful  arms,  and  held  in  such  a  manner 
that  he  was  completely  at  the  mercy  of  his  captor.  He 
struggled  violently. 

"Keep  quiet,  little  red-skin,  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  hurt  you," 
said  a  rough  voice.  Still  the  boy  struggled,  arid  his  captor 
released  him  saying, 

"  You've  spilt  your  dinner,  but  never  mind,  I've  got  a 
plenty.  You  ain't  all  Ingin.  What  you  doin'  here  ? 
Where'd  ye  come  from  ?" 

The  boy  felt  that  he  would  not  be  injured  by  the  brawny 
hunter  who  had  surprised  him,  arid  employing  what  few 
English  words  he  had  picked  up,  he  told  truthfully  how  he 
had  lost  his  father  and  mother,  and  then  stated  his  own 
present  purpose. 

"  You'll  go  with  me,"  replied  the  backwoodsman.  "  We'll 
take  care  o'  them  red  varmints.  What'd  they  call  you,  little 
Ingin  ?" 

The  youth  gave  the  name  he  had  borne  among  the  Indians, 
and  pronounced  it  several  times,  but  the  hunter  could  not 
catch  the  correct  sound,  and  with  a  gesture  of  impatience, 
he  cried — 

"  Taint  no  odds — call  me  Clinker,  and  I'll  call  you  Birty. 
I  know'd  a  fellow  o'  that  name  once,  and  a  tarnal  cunnin' 
creter  he  was  too." 

There  was  a  frankness  about  this  backwoodsman  which 
won  the  boy's  confidence.  After  they  had  eaten  together, 
and  Birty,  as  we  shall  hereafter  designate  him,  had  related 
the  principal  incidents  of  his  history,  Clinker  said,  "  You're 
just  the  chap  I  wanted  to  scar  up.  Yer  haint  no  body  to 
look  after  ye,  and  over  these  mountains  here,  I've  got  a  gal 
'bout  your  size  as  haint  got  nobody  to  take  care  o'  her  'ceptin 


Hunter  Birty.  141 

when  she  goes  to  another  cabin  'bout  ten  miles  off.  Them 
tarnal  red-skins  took  her  mother's  scalp  one  day,  when  I  was 
a  huntin',  but  I  reckon  since  a  few  on  'em  have  paid  for  that 
scalp.  You  an'  that  gal  can  look  out  for  the  old  cabin,  an' 
she  needn't  trouble  her  nabors.  Agreed,  little  Ingin  ?" 

Birty  offered  no  objections,  but  expressed  himself  glad  of 
the  opportunity ;  provided  it  should  not  interfere  with  his 
determination  to  seek  out  his  brothers  who  were  in  Indian 
bondage. 

"  Haint  I  got  a  spite,  too,  agin  them  varmints,  and  won't 
we  hunt  'em  for  each  other,"  answered  Clinker. 

On  the  second  day  after  this  conversation,  Birty  was  shown 
his  new  home.  Its  garden  spot  broke  the  wilderness,  near  a 
small  stream  which  wound  through  a  thickly  timbered  valley, 
but  which,  from  the  distance  he  first  viewed  it,  looked  only 
like  a  dark  line  stretched  across  the  tops  of  the  trees. 

It  was  a  cabin  of  more  pretensions  than  his  father's.  It 
had  a  chimney,  in  the  solitary  window  there  were  a  few  panes 
of  glass,  and  it  was  surrounded  by  a  small  corn  field.  Here 
Clinker  left  his  adopted  son  until  he  should  find  the  girl  who 
was  to  be  his  companion.  Birty  met  her  on  the  following 
morning.  She  was  a  tall,  athletic,  but  well  formed  maiden, 
with  a  countenance  frank  and  intelligent,  though  bronzed  to 
a  shade  that  Kentucky  girls  of  the  present  day  would  think 
most  fatal  to  matrimonial  prospects.  Her  attire  was  not  very 
similar  to  that  fashionable  in  our  time.  Her  hair  was  con 
fined  carelessly  by  a  large  thorn  —  her  dress  consisted  of 
home-made  cloth  and  skins,  which  hung  about  her  in  a  man 
ner  innocent  of  art. 

Her  name  was  Martha.  Her  father  called  her  Mat,  and 
he  told  her  she  must  consider  Birty  as  a  brother.  He  should 


142  Hunter  Birty. 

leave  them  hereafter  to  take  care  of  his  cabin.  Between 
these  young  persons,  thus  thrown  together,  there  sprung  up 
naturally  a  mutual  sympathy  which  ripened  into  a  friendship 
as  pure  as  the  friendship  of  a  brother  and  a  sister.  They 
were  as  brother  and  sister. 

Birty  was  naturally  a  musician,  and  sitting  at  the  cabin 
door  on  a  pleasant  evening,  he  would  sing  the  wild  songs  he 
had  heard  his  mother  sing.  Gradually  he  learned  to  whistle, 
in  imitation  of  the  birds  that  built  their  nests,  and  swung  in 
the  branches  overhanging  the  cabin.  He  taught  Martha  to 
sing  his  wild  Indian  songs,  and  he  instructed  her  to  imitate 
the  varying  notes  of  the  wild  birds.  She  was  a  ready  pupil, 
and  soon  excelled  her  master.  Many  a  pleasant  hour 
did  the  two  children  of  the  forest  spend  together  thus  em 
ployed. 

Those  were  rare  concerts  in  the  deep  woods,  by  the  glad 
birds  and  the  rude  backwoodsman,  with  his  untutored  com 
panion.  Willful  sportsmen  did  not  then  frighten  the  harmless 
bird  from  its  nest  or  from  its  leafy  try  sting  place,  and  the 
charmed  songsters  were  not  alarmed  when  Birty  and  Martha 
joined  them  in  their  hymns  of  praise. 

Would  that  more  of  those  who  now  love  music  had  such 
respect  for  the  wild  songs  of  the  wild  birds  that  they  dare 
not  level  the  murderous  barrel  at  the  songsters,  and  that  those 
who  must  have  sport  would  all  find  it  elsewhere  than  in  shoot 
ing  the  birds  that  would  make  their  nests  in  farm  yards, 
or  near  our  village  dwellings. 

Birty's  life  in  this  valley,  for  the  time  and  circumstances, 
was  a  quiet  one,  too  quiet  for  his  restless  nature,  and  for  the 
fierce  passion  to  revenge  the  grievous  wrongs  of  his  family, 
which  burned  within  him. 


Hunter  Birty.  143 

He  had  grown  to  be  a  man  in  strength  and  stature,  and 
he  was  eager  to  travel  towards  the  Indian  hunting-grounds 
where  he  hoped  to  gain  tidings  of  the  playmates  of  his  early 
youth.  Day  after  day  his  eagerness  grew  more  exciting, 
and  when,  by  a  settler,  who  spent  a  night  at  the  cabin,  he 
learned  that  a  party  of  hunters  was  about  to  explore  the 
wilds  of  the  then  entirely  unsettled  Kentucky  Territory,  he 
resolved  to  be  one  of  the  number.  This  resolve  he  com 
municated  to  Clinker. 

"  You  don't  do  that  alone,"  answered  Clinker,  to  Birty 's 
astonishment.  "  I'll  find  them  chaps  myself.  There's 
nothin'  here  to  keep  a  feller." 

"  But  ye  don't  consider,"  answered  Birty,  "  who'll  watch 
the  cabin  and  look  arter  Mat." 

"  She'll  go  to  the  settlement — we  shan't  be  gone  more'n 
half  the  winter.  We  can  lick  enough  o'  them  red-skins  in 
that  time." 

So  it  was  fixed — Clinker  and  Birty  joined  the  hunters,  who 
were  to  explore  the  wild  lands  of  Kentucky,  and  Clinker's 
daughter  took  up  her  abode  in  one  of  the  cabins  of  a  settle 
ment  about  ten  miles  from  the  spot  she  had  assisted  to  culti 
vate  in  the  wilderness.  Birty  and  Martha  parted  like  broth 
er  and  sister.  When  they  took  leave  of  each  other  Clinker, 
in  his  rough  but  honest  way,  said : 

"  Thar,  I'll  be  licked  by  a  red-skin,  if  I  didn't  know  a 
tarnal  sight  better,  I'd  think,  Birty,  as  how  you  and  Mat 
were  some  kin.  It's  astonishing  how  you've  tuck  to  each 
other." 

Clinker  knew  not  the  fate  in  store  for  his  daughter,  or  he 
might  have  manifested  something  of  the  feeling  for  which  he 
ridiculed  Birty. 


144  Hunter  Birty. 

He  had  not  been  absent  from  the  settlement  ten  days, 
when  a  large  party  of  Indians  attacked  it  in  the  night,  burned 
several  cabins,  and  took  a  number  of  women  and  children 
prisoners,  among  whom  was  Martha. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE  CAPTIVE. 

IT  was  late  in  the  month  of  September,  1775,  when  Clink 
er  and  Birty  joined  the  party  that  was  to  explore  the  West 
ern  wilds.  The  place  of  rendezvous  was  Powell's  valley. 
The  company  consisted,  in  the  language  of  the  times,  of 
44  twenty-seven  guns,"  or  twenty-seven  fighting  men.  Daniel 
Boone,  the  renowned  Pioneer,  was  one  of  that  party,  as  was 
also  Hugh  McGary  and  several  other  hardy  hunters  from  the 
backwoods  of  North  Carolina. 

The  history  of  that  expedition  is  a  portion  of  the  history 
of  Kentucky ;  it  is  known  not  to  have  afforded  much  oppor 
tunity  for  the  ambitious  to  distinguish  themselves,  but  Birty 
so  conducted  himself  that  he  elicited  the  admiration  of  Boone. 
That  old  hunter  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  party,  at 
Dick's  creek,  leaving  them  to  pursue  their  way  to  Harrods- 
burg,  then  a  settlement  of  four  cabins,  while  he  bent  his 
course  toward  Boonesborough,  the  site  of  the  first  fort  erect 
ed  by  the  white  man  in  Kentucky.  He  invited  Birty  to  ac 
company  him.  Birty  accepted  the  invitation. 

"  You're  a  tarnal  fool,"  said  Clinker,  when  Birty  told  him 
of  his  determination.  "  Ye  better  stick  to  the  other  chaps." 

"  We  didn't  come  here  to  plant  corn.     I'm  for  fightin' 


146  Hunter  Birty. 

Ingins.  These  fellers  aint  a  goin'  to  do  no  fightin' — Boone's 
the  chap  what'll  make  the  rascals  scarcer." 

"  Them's  facts,  Birty — and  fightin'  Ingins  is  what  we're 
arter.  If  you  leave  this  crowd  so'll  I." 

Thus  it  was  agreed  upon,  and  Birty  and  Clinker,  without 
adventure  of  note,  accompanied  Boone  and  his  party  to 
Boonesborough,  and  took  up  their  abode  in  the  fort.  Mann 
Butler,  in  his  history  of  Kentucky,  says: 

"  Well  might  the  Indians,  could  they  have  anticipated  the 
faintest  shadow  of  the  ills  in  store  for  them,  and  their  whole 
race,  from  this  foothold  of  the  white  man  have  contested  the 
fatal  lodgement  with  the  last  drop  of  their  blood.  The 
genius  of  their  Pontiac,  their  Turtle  and  their  Tecumseh,did 
not  display  itself  more  gloriously  at  Detroit  against  St.  Clair, 
and  on  the  Thames,  than  it  might  have  done,  in  preventing 
the  white  man  from  erecting  his  forts  in  the  great  hunting 
grounds  of  their  tribes.  . 

"  A  fort  in  those  rude  military  times,  consisted  of  pieces  of 
timber  sharpened  at  the  end,  and  fairly  lodged  in  the  ground  ; 
rows  of  pickets  enclosed  the  desired  space,  which  embraced 
the  cabins  of  the  inhabitants.  A  block  house,  of  superior 
care  and  strength,  commanding  the  sides  of  the  fort,  with  or 
without  a  ditch,  completed  the  fortifications,  or  stations  as 
they  were  called ;  generally  the  sides  of  the  interior  cabins 
formed  the  sides  of  the  fort.  Slight  as  this  advance  was  in 
the  art  of  war,  it  was  more  than  sufficient  against  attacks  of 
small  arms,  in  the  hands  of  such  desultory  warriors,  as  their 
irregularities  of  supplies  necessarily  rendered  the  Indians. 
Such  was  the  nature  of  the  military  structures  of  the  Pio 
neers  against  their  enemies.  They  were  even  more  formi- 


Hunter  Birty.  147 

dable  in  the  cane  brakes  and  in  the  woods  than  before  these 
imperfect  fortifications." 

There  fairly  began  young  Birty's  career  as  a  daring  back 
woodsman.  There  he  had  the  first  opportunity  of  associating 
freely  with  men  and  women — joining  in  their  amusements  or 
taking  part  in  their  athletic  sports. 

A  certain  number  of  the  most  active  men  about  the  fort, 
were  selected  as  hunters  for  the  families  which  there  had 
homes.  One  of  the  most  fortunate  of  those  hunters  was 
Birty.  He  was  a  young  man  of  remarkable  muscular  devel 
opment,  and  his  power  of  endurance  was  astonishing  even 
to  some  of  the  old  hunters,  whom  he  met.  He  was  in  the 
habit  of  making  long  excursions  from  the  fort,  and  he  would 
not  allow  even  Clinker  to  accompany  him.  On  his  return 
from  these  exhibitions  he  told  often  of  conflicts  with  Indians, 
but  he  never  appeared  with  a  scalp  at  his  belt.  Once  he 
related  an  encounter  with  a  brawny  savage,  to  Clinker,  who, 
as  if  doubting  Birty's  word,  said : 

"  Where's  your  trophy,  boy  ?     Show  us  the  critter's  har." 

"  I  never  scalped  an  Ingin  in  my  life,  and  never  will.  Ye 
don't  'spose,  Clinker,  I  haint  no  more  respect  for  myself  an' 
a  bear  cub,  what  you  couldn't  get  to  touch  a  dead  carcass. 
Taint  in  me,  Clinker;  I  hate  Ingiris,but  when  they're  dead  I 
let  'ern  alone." 

Spring  came.  Clinker  had  returned  to  Virginia,  to  seek 
in  vain  for  his  cherished  Mat.  Birty  still  made  the  Boones- 
borough  fort  his  rendezvous,  though  he  was  seldom  there 
many  days  in  succession. 

Early  in  the  summer  of  1776,  unmistakable  "signs"  of 
Indians,  with  warlike  intentions,  were  discovered  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  fort.  Birty  took  it  upon  himself  to  be 


148  Hunter  Birty. 

a  spy  upon  their  movements.  The  unbroken  forest  was  now 
his  dwelling  place,  but  he  often  thought  of  his  Virginia  home. 
Numerous  birds  sang  in  the  branches  of  the  trees  forever  over 
hanging  him  in  his  wanderings,  and  his  only  recreation  was 
whistling  such  notes  as  most  nearly  imitated  their  varied 
warblings. 

He  discovered  one  afternoon  satisfactory  evidences  of  the 
close  proximity  of  a  considerable  body  of  Indians.  All  of 
his  forest  cunning,  and  his  backwoods  instincts  were  awake. 
Night  approached,  and  still  he  met  none  of  the  enemy  ; 
however,  he  knew  a  party  of  them  must  that  night  encamp 
in  the  vicinity.  He  watched  eagerly  for  signs  of  their  camp, 
believing  that  they  intended  to  make  an  unexpected  attack 
upon  the  fort  at  Boonesborough  or  at  Harrodsburg,  and  he 
was  determined  to  thwart  their  intentions  by  giving  the  in 
habitants  timely  warning. 

The  full  round  moon  rose  behind  the  trees  and  shone 
clearly  upon  the  ancient  woods.  Birty  looked  up  through 
the  foliage  and  saw  distinctly  broken  patches  of  the  blue  sky, 
but  he  could  detect  no  curling  smoke  for  which  he  watched 
as  a  sign  of  the  savage  camp. 

He  prepared  to  take  his  evening  meal  and  roll  himself  in 
his  blanket  within  the  sheltering  top  of  a  fallen  tree,  when 
he  fancied  he  heard  a  familiar,  but  for  that  place  and  hour, 
a  very  strange  sound.  It  grew  louder  and  appeared  to  come 
nearer.  Birty  left  his  hiding  place  and  cautiously  took  a 
position  where,  without  being  observed,  he  could  see  any 
object  that  might  approach  in  the  direction  of  the  sounds. 

Presently  the  hunter  answered  the  sounds  ;  then  thinking 
of  the  exercises  he  had  had  at  his  Virginia  home,  he  imita 
ted  those  birdwarblings  with  which  he  had  been  familiar. 


Hunter  Birty.  149 

To  his  astonishment  they  were  all  answered  perfectly.  His 
curiosity  was  now  wrought  to  a  pitch,  that  would  have  in 
duced  him  to  brave  any  danger  in  its  gratification.  Again 
he  imitated  the  song  of  a  familiar  bird — again  it  was  an 
swered.  Now  he  examined  the  priming  of  his  rifle — satisfied 
himself  that  his  knife  and  tomahawk  were  safe,  and  skulking 
from  tree  to  tree,  approached  the  spot  whence  he  imagined  his 
notes  had  been  answered.  Standing  at  the  foot  of  a  vener 
able  tree,  he  saw  a  young  squaw,  who  appeared  to  be  listen 
ing  eagerly  for  some  sound  by  which  she  had  been  startled. 

As  the  hunter  watched  her  she  poured  forth  a  gush  of 
melody  that  could  be  likened  only  to  the  mocking  bird's  wild 
music.  Birty,  when  the  squaw's  voice  ceased,  echoed  those 
sounds,  and  the  squaw's  attention  was  fixed  upon  the  hunter, 
as  he  stood  with  his  rifle  leaning  against  his  arm,  and  his 
polished  knife  gleaming  from  his  belt  in  the  moon-light. 

Cries  of  recognition  escaped  both  the  hunter  and  the 
squaw — Birty  and  Martha  Clinker  had  again  met.  Expla 
nations  were  mutually  demanded,  and  conversing  in  the  In 
dian  tongue,  which  Birty  learned  in  his  youth,  and  which 
Martha  had  learned  in  her  captivity,  Birty  told  how  it  hap 
pened  that  he  was  there,  and  what  had  befallen  him  since 
they  parted.  Martha  related  the  circumstances  of  her  cap 
tivity,  arid  Birty  desired  she  should  that  night  flee  with  him 
to  Boonesborough,  whence  she  could  return  to  Virginia  in 
quest  of  her  father.  Martha  refused.  Birty  urged  her  to 
give  the  reasons.  She  answered  : 

"  My  heart  leaped  to  see  you  as  does  the  heart  of  the  doe 
for  a  lost  fatfn,  and  I  would  greet  my  father  as  the  fawn 
would  greet  the  long  absent  doe,  but  I  cannot  go  back  with 
you  now.  Among  the  Indians  at  yonder  camp  is  one  Birty, 


Hunter  Birty. 

as  much  like  you  as  one  fawn  is  like  another,  and  did  I  not 
know  that  you  are  not  an  Indian  I  should  think  you  were 
brothers.  He  took  me  to  his  wigwam,  when  the  party  that 
captured  me  joined  the  rest  of  the  tribe.  At  first  he  was 
repugnant  to  me — then  I  received  his  attentions  because  he 
reminded  me  of  you,  and  he  was  so  different  from  what  I 
had  been  told  Indian  warriors  are  like,  that  I  began  to  love 
him,  and  I  dare  not  desert  him,  if  for  no  other  reason,  for 
the  sake  of  a  pledge  of  our  love  which  sleeps  in  our  wigwam, 
and  is  yet  dependent  upon  its  mother  for  the  life  it  enjoys." 

"  Is  that  Indian  older  than  I  am  ?"  inquired  Birty  eager 
ly,  still  speaking  in  the  Indian  tongue. 

"  Many  moons  younger,  I  should  judge,"  answered  Martha. 

Then  a  hope  which  had  long  since  died,  revived  in  Birty's 
breast. 

"  Can  you  bring  this  Indian  to  meet  me  to-morrow  night  ?" 
he  said. 

"  I  dare  trust  you,  Birty,  but  I  dare  not  ask  him,"  she 
replied. 

"  Tell  me  then  whither  the  tribe  is  traveling." 

"  Toward  the  great  river,  to  meet  friends.  They  talk  of 
white  foes  collecting  to  drive  them  from  their  hunting  grounds 
— they  are  preparing  to  meet  them." 

"  I  am  watching  their  movements,  and  have  been  for  several 
days.  You  will  give  me  your  word  that  they  do  not  design 
to  attack  any  of  the  settlements  in  this  neighborhood  ?" 

"  I  overheard  the  warriors  in  the  council  last  night.  I 
know  their  march  will  be  secretly  continued  to  a  point  on  the 
Ohio,  where  they  expect  to  meet  other  warrio*rs,  who  are  de 
termined  to  fight  for  their  hunting  grounds.  I  must  go  back 
to  the  camp — farewell,  Birty." 


Hunter  Birty.  151 

"  We  shall  meet  again,"  said  the  hunter. 

"  You  will  tell  my  father  I  am  not  unhappy  in  my  Indian 
home,"  answered  Martha. 

Birty  watched  her  till  she  disappeared  among  the  trees. 
She  had  forbidden  him  to  follow  her,  and  he  obeyed.  He 
resolved  to  be  among  those  whom  the  Indians,  gathering  their 
forces  together,  had  determined  to  expel  from  the  cane  brakes 
and  forests  of  Kentucky,  but  he  was  not  satisfied  to  leave 
the  party  so  near  him,  till  he  knew  more  of  their  numbers 
and  character  than  Martha  had  communicated. 

On  the  morrow  he  stood  near  the  Indian  camp  when  prep 
arations  were  made  for  marching,  and  he  saw  Martha  with 
the  squaws,  her  papoose  in  Indian  fashion  fastened  upon  her 
back  ;  but  he  could  see  no  one  whom  he  could  identify  as 
her  husband.  To  look  at  the  Indian  that,  as  Martha  said, 
resembled  him,  was  to  Birty  an  enjoyment  for  which  he  was 
ready  to  brave  dangers  that  would  appall  hearts  unaccustomed 
to  forest  life ;  and  he  resolved  to  follow  the  Indians  until  he 
had  satisfied  his  curiosity  in  this  particular. 

When  the  savages  gathered  around  their  camp  at  night, 
four  of  their  number  were  missing.  They  were  vainly  looked 
for.  Birty  could  have  told  where  their  bodies  were  lying. 
Following  the  Indian  trail  he  had  overtaken  these  stragglers, 
and  when  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  neither  was  that  one  for 
whom  he  looked,  thoughts  of  the  last  scene  witnessed  in  his 
mountain  home,  nerved  his  arm,  and  the  savages  fell,  and 
neither  could  have  told  what  manner  of  foe  was  near  him. 
Birty  had  seen  others  that  day  who  might  as  easily  have  been 
his  victims,  but  he  was  not  satisfied  that  they  did  not  answer 
the  description  that  Martha  had  given  ;  and  they  joined  their 
companions  unharmed. 


152  Hunter  Birty. 

The  Indians  had  not  suspected  foes  until  the  absence  of 
their  warriors  on  the  night  of  which  we  write.  While  sav 
ages  smoked  their  pipes,  Martha  heard  the  wild  notes  of  the 
forest  bird  far  back  in  the  woods  ;  and  then  she  could  have 
told  those  around  her  the  fate  of  the  absent,  but  she  dare 
not ;  nor  dare  she  go  to  Birty  and  warn  him  of  the  danger 
that,  on  the  following  day,  might  threaten  him. 

Again  and  again  Birty  called  in  bird-like  music,  that  he 
knew  Martha  would  understand,  but  he  received  no  answer. 
Stealthily  he  crept  nearer  the  camp.  He  could  see  the 
dusky  forms  of  the  Indians  passing  to  and  fro,  but  he  was 
not  satisfied — with  the  utmost  caution  he  crept  so  near  that 
he  could  almost  hear  the  conversation  of  a  group  of  warriors 
in  council.  He  understood  their  language,  and  he  deter 
mined  to  know  the  subject  of  their  consultation. 

With  the  shrewdest  exercise  of  his  knowledge  of  Indian 
habits,  he  skulked  from  tree  to  tree.  Moonlight  had  thus 
for  aided  his  movements — now  it  retarded  them.  Heavy 
clouds  hung  in  the  sky,  and  he  waited  for  the  moon  to  be  ob 
scured  by  them — then  he  crept  very  near  the  council. 

Now  he  could  distinctly  hear  every  word  that  was  uttered, 
and  the  report  that  Martha  had  given  him  was  confirmed. 
He  suspected  that  her  husband  must  be  one  of  the  warriors 
in  the  group  before  him,  and  he  resolved  to  run  a  greater 
risk  in  order  to  satisfy  his  curiosity.  Again  he  cautiously 
skylked  toward  the  Indian  camp.  The  risk  of  detection  was 
great.  Birty  was  full  aware  of  that  risk.  He  had  de 
termined  to  brave  it,  and  he  crept  on. 

There  was  a  deep  shadow  on  the  woods,  and  Birty  had 
reached  a  clump  of  bushes  so  near  the  council  that  he  was 
confident,  when  the  moon  shown  again,  he  could  see  the  face 


Hunter  Birty.  153 

of  every  warrior.  He  had  been  so  intent  on  watching  the 
difficulties  to  be  overcome  immediately  around  him,  that  he 
had  not  kept  himself  correctly  informed  concerning  the  period 
when  the  cloud  which  obscured  the  moon  would  pass  from 
before  it,  and  while  he  stood  exposed  to  view,  its  mellow  ra 
diance  fell  on  the  thin  woods  where  the  Indian  council  sat. 

An  Indian  on  guard  caught  a  glimpse  of  Birty  as  he 
dashed  into  the  bushes.  That  Indian  gave  the  alarm.  In 
stantly  the  hunter  was  surrounded. 

He  sprang  from  the  bushes  into  the  open  woods,  and,  re 
markably  fleet  on  foot,  would  have  escaped  comparatively 
unharmed,  but  his  foes  were  numerous.  His  first  impulse 
was  to  fight,  reckless  of  consequences,  but  in  an  instant  he 
saw  that  it  was  scarcely  possible  he  could  escape  with  his  life 
— then  he  thought  of  Martha — of  his  curiosity  in  reference 
to  the  Indian  Martha  had  described  as  her  husband,  and  he 
surrendered.  He  was  securely  bound  and  carefully  watched. 
When  day  dawned  he  saw  with  bitter  disappointment  that 
there  was  no  one  among  the  Indians  who  bore  the  slightest 
resemblance  to  himself. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

A  SKIRMISH. 

THE  Indians  held  a  council,  and  Birty,  closely  guarded, 
•was  confined  to  a  tree  near  the  centre  of  the  camp.  The  In 
dians  had  no  suspicion  that  he  understood  their  language,  and 
they  talked  freely  in  his  hearing.  He  learned  that  they  had 
resolved  to  make  him  run  the  gauntlet,  and  then  torture  him 
to  death.  They  believed  him  to  have  been  the  rxurderer  of 
those  who  had  recently  disappeared  from  their  ranks,  and 
they  regarded  him  with  true  Indian  vengeance.  All  this 
must  be  done  •within  two  days — at  which  time  it  was  expected 
this  party  would  overtake  another,  that  had  gone  forward  ear 
ly  the  night  previous  as  a  scouting  company.  The  leader 
of  the  scouting  party  was  Martha's  husband,  as  Birty  judged 
from  the  talk  in  regard  to  him. 

Birty  looked  upon  the  Indian  warriors  as  they  sat  in  coun 
cil  or  stood  near  him,  keeping  watch,  and  he  had  ample  op 
portunity  to  calculate  the  dangers  of  his  situation  and  spec 
ulate  upon  the  chances  of  escape.  He  knew  th'at  he  should 
riot  be  harmed,  unless  some  accident  occurred,  until  another 
night  had  passed,  and  he  resolved  to  conduct  himself  as  if  he 
had  no  anxiety  about  his  fate.  He  would  be  watchful,  but 
submissive,  lie  was  watched  suspiciously  by  several  of  the 

(154) 


Hunter  Birty.  155 

Indians,  as  if  they  half  believed  him  to  be  a  warrior  from 
some  other  tribe,  who  had  joined  the  whites.  His  half  In 
dian  extraction  and  the  peculiar  associations  of  his  life,  had 
indeed  rendered  him  very  much,  in  many  respects,  like  orig 
inal  sons  of  the  forest,  yet  in  bearing  and  intelligence,  he 
was  very  different  from  those  who  no\v  had  him  in  their  pow 
er.  He  only  asked  that  the  watchfulness  of  his  guard  would 
be  withdrawn  long  enough  to  allow  him  a  few  moment's  con 
versation  with  Martha.  He  saw  her  several  times,  but  she 
had  no  opportunity  to  come  near  him. 

Birty  rejoiced  when  the  Indians  began  to  make  busy  prep 
arations  for  departure.  They  had  smoked  their  pipes  and 
taken  their  hasty  morning  meal,  when  they  held  another  coun 
cil  within  ear-shot  of  Birty's  position.  One  who  seemed  to 
be  a  man  of  authority,  said  to  his  fellow  savages : 

"  The  pale-faces  came  to  drive  us  from  our  ancient  hunt 
ing  grounds.  We  go  to  join  Indians  who  will  drive  back 
the  pale-faces.  Our  captive  can  tell  us  whether  the  pale 
faces  are  like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  in  number,  in  summer 
or  in  winter.  He  can  guide  us  to  their  wigwams.  We  shall 
offer  him  his  liberty  if  he  will  tell  us  their  number,  and  show 
us  their  wigwams.  The  white  squaw  can  talk  with  the  cap 
tive." 

The  warriors  agreed  to  this  speech,  and  Martha  was  sent 
for  to  interrogate  Birty. 

The  prisoner  saw  her  approach  him  with  no  slight  emotion. 
She  asked  him  the  questions  which  the  warrior  who  had  been 
spokesman  propounded,  and  he  answered  : 

"  Tell  'em  to  do  their  ugliest.  I  shan't  show  'em  the  first 
pale-face — but  let  'em  know  the  whites  are  mighty  plenty 
over  East,  and  give  'em  to  understand  that  I'm  a  friend  of 


156  Hunter  Birty. 

Ban  Boone's,  and  if  they  come  any  of  their  Ingin  sprees 
over  me  they'll  have  the  old  chap  arter  'em.  For  yourself, 
now  Martha,  I'll  tell  ye  that  I'm  goin'  to  leave  this  place 
afore  another  day,  and  you've  got  to  cut  me  loose  to-night  if 
I  don't  get  a  chance  to  kick  over  some  of  them  red  devils  to- 
day." 

Martha  dare  make  no  reply  to  Birty  for  fear  of  exciting 
suspicion,  but  her  face  assured  him  that  he  would  have  her 
aid,  if  she  could  give  it.  When  she  told  the  warriors  how 
sternly  the  captive  rejected  their  proposition,  and  what  he 
threatened  them,  the  big  fellow  who  had  spoken,  uttered  a 
significant '"  Ugh  !  "  Several  followed  his  example,  and  then 
in  a  few  minutes  the  order  was  given  for  a  march.  In  a 
short  time  the  whole  party  was  under  way.  A  heavy  bur 
den  was  fastened  upon  Birty's  back,  and  with  his  hands  tied 
behind  him,  he  was  driven  before  two  stout  warriors.  Bir 
ty's  proud  heart  beat  indignantly,  as  he  marched  that  day,  a 
slave  to  the  "  varmints  "  that  had  so  deeply  wronged  his  fam 
ily.  His  vows  of  revenge  were  deep  and  earnest. 

Night  was  coming  on,  and  Birty  had  seen  no  opportunity 
of  escape.  His  hopes  of  freedom  were  centred  on  Martha's 
aid,  and  the  character  of  the  weather.  The  day  had  been 
lowering,  and  there  were  tokens  of  rain.  About  noon  the 
clouds  broke  away  and  the  sky  became  clear ;  then  Birty's 
hope  of  liberty  was  a  feeble  one,  but  as  afternoon  advanced 
the  sky  was  again  overcast.  At  sunset  it  was  darker  in  the 
forest  than  it  was  on  the  previous  night,  when  Birty  stood 
as  a  spy  upon  the  Indian  camp.  Birty  watched  the  gather 
ing  gloom  with  most  intense  interest — it  was  to  aid  him  in 
making  the  escape  he  had  planned.  He  had  been  so  obedi 
ent  to  the  commands  laid  upon  him  by  the  Indians,  that  his 


Hunter  Birty.  157 

guards  had  relaxed  much  of  the  vigilance  they  had  exercised 
at  the  commencement  of  their  march ;  and  the  prisoner 
thought  this  augured  well  for  the  future. 

The  warriors  selected  a  resting  place  upon  the  bank  of  a 
small  stream ;  Birty  saw  that  there  were  low  bushes  along 
this  bank,  and  thick  woods  on  the  opposite  side — he  was  sat 
isfied  with  the  choice  his  captors  had  made.  An  immense 
fire  was  built,  whose  light  flashed  up  among  the  ancient  trees, 
revealing  the  Indians  seated  upon  the  ground  with  their  pris 
oner  securely  bound  in  their  midst.  The  previous  night  he 
had  not  been  permitted  to  lie  down.  He  was  now  ingenious 
ly  bound  to  two  warriors  who  lay  on  either  side  of  him. 
They  were  confident  he  could  not  stir  without  awaking  them. 
The  captors  slept,  but  the  captive  did  not.  Nearly  half  the 
night  had  passed — the  fire  gave  out  fitful  flashes  as  a  gentle 
wind  swept  through  the  forest,  and  Birty  felt  most  painfully 
that  his  chance  of  deliverance  was  every  hour  growing 
narrower. 

As  he  speculated  upon  his  gloomy  prospects  he  felt  the  cords 
tighten  upon  his  swollen  limbs — he  began  to  grow  listless  from 
fatigue  and  despair — he  thought  he  heard  a  light  foot-fall — 
presently  some  one  bent  over  him — it  was  Martha.  She 
cautiously  cut  the  cords  which  bound  Birty  to  his  guards,  and 
he  stood  upon  his  feet.  In  a  moment  his  limbs  were  free 
—  he  stretched  them  out  as  if  to  ascertain  whether  the 
muscles  would  obey  his  will — then  he  looked  upon  his  slum 
bering  foes  to  find  where  the  one  was  lying  who  had  taken 
possession  of  his  rifle,  tomahawk  and  knife. 

The  apparent  leader  of  the  party,  the  spokesman  qf  the 
previous  morning,  had  Birty's  weapons — the  knife  and  tom 
ahawk  were  in  his  belt. 


158  Hunter  Birty. 

Birtj  would  have  felt  himself  unarmed  without  the  knife, 
tomahawk  and  rifle  of  his  father — he  knew  their  metal. 

He  crept  stealthily  toward  the  warrior,  whom  he  was  to 
"rob."  He  took  the  rifle  in  his  hand — slipped  the  knife 
safely  from  the  savage's  belt,  and  had  his  hand  upon  the  tom 
ahawk  ;  the  Indian  moved  as  if  he  would  awaken — a  mad 
impulse  seized  Birty,  he  hastily  tore  the  weapon  from  its 
place  and  struck  the  warrior  a  blow  which  buried  the  toma 
hawk  in  his  head.  Fatally  wounded,  the  savage  in  his  dying 
struggles  was  convulsively  thrown  forward  and  fell  back  upon 
the  warrior  lying  next  to  him,  who  was  aroused  instantly. 
He  sprang  to  his  feet  before  Birty  could  strike  him,  and 
uttered  a  war-cry  with  furious  energy.  It  was  no  time  for 
Birty  to  fight — his  safety  lay  in  dexterous  dodging  and  fleet- 
ness  of  foot.  AH  was  confusion  around  the  camp  fire.  Bir 
ty  had  his  presence  of  mind.  Quickly  the  Indians  gathered 
theirs.  Several  started  in  swift  pursuit  of  the  fugitive.  Two 
warriors  were  close  upon  him,  one  of  them  had  almost  over 
taken  him,  when  the  sharp  report  of  several  rifles  rang 
through  the  forest,  and  the  foremost  Indians  fell. 

Birty  knew  that  friends  had  most  unexpectedly  but  most 
opportunely  come ;  yet  he  relaxed  not  a  muscle  in  his  flight, 
and  well  that  he  did  not,  for  he  had  advanced  but  a  few 
steps  when  he  met  Martha,  who,  expecting  that  Birty  would 
peacefully  escape,  had  gone  outside  of  the  camp  to  meet  him 
and  give  him  some  words  to  bear  her  father.  She  was  now 
frantic  with  fear  that  the  Indians  might  find  her  babe,  and 
for  revenge,  murder  it  in  her  absence.  She  had  discovered 
that  friends  had  come  to  Birty's  rescue.  There  were  quick 
ly  successive  shots  at  the  camp,  and  yells  and  curses.  Fear 
for  the  safety  of  her  child  nerved  her,  and  into  the  thickest 


Hunter  Birty.  159 

of  the  conflict  she  would  have  rushed  had  not  Birty  restrained 
her. 

"  Where  'd  you  leave  it  ?  "  he  said.  She  described  to 
him  a  spot  which  he  vowed  he  could  instantly  find.  He  bid 
her  not  to  go  nearer  the  camp  till  he  returned,  and  then 
went  in  quest  of  the  papoose.  The  conflict  did  not  wage 
near  the  spot  where  its  mother  had  left  it,  but  it  had  been 
aroused  from  slumber  and  was  screaming  with  fright.  The 
mother  who  had  stealthily  followed  Birty,  fearing  that  it  was 
wounded,  rushed  before  him  and  snatched  it  from  the  ground. 
The  hunter  heard  the  child  greet  its  mother  with  a  cry  of 
recognition,  then  without  a  word  he  rushed  to  the  battle 
ground,  and  found  it  occupied  with  friends.  The  savages 
had  been  routed — leaving  several  dead,  and  taking  with  them 
a  number  of  wounded. 

"  Hello!  "  said  a  rough  voice. 

Birty  recognized  it,  and  he  answered :  "  Hello  !  Clinker, 
where'd  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  Birty  !  sure  as  I  ever  killed  a  red  devil,"  replied  Clinker, 
rushing  towards  the  spot  where  Birty  stood. 

It  was  a  joyful  meeting,  but  Birty  felt  that  there  would 
soon  be  a  more  joyful  one. 

"  You  aint  the  chap  what  was  running  from  them 
Ingins,  Birty  ?  "  said  Clinker. 

"  Are  you  the  chap  what  cut  'em  down  ?"  replied  Birty. 

"  I'm  one  of  'em,"  answered  Clinker.  "  There's  a  dozen 
of  us,  all  the  right  grit.  How'd  you  get  in  that  trap  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  arter  a  while.     How'd  you  happen  here  ?  " 

"  Why  you  see,  Birty,  when  I  left  you  at  the  fort  and 
went  home,  I  found  the  devil'd  been  to  pay — the  tarnal 
Ingins  had  been  down  on  the  settlement,  and  they'd  carried 


160  Hunter  Birty. 

off  Mat.  I  owed  'em  an  old  grudge,  and  I  cum  back  to 
Kaintuck  to  fight  'em — some  of  these  boys  cum  from  the  set 
tlement  and  some  we  picked  up.  We  got  on  track  of  the 
Ingins,  at  this  camp,  jist  by  accident,  yesterday,  and  we  fol 
lowed  'em  till  last  night,  and  it  was  dark.  We  know'd  we 
was  close  on  'em,  and  we  thought  we'd  take  'em  afore  mornin', 
but  it  got  tarnal  dark.  I  was  a  watchin'  a  while  ago  when  them 
clouds  broke  away,  and  I  give  the  boys  the  word,  and  we 
started.  We  arriv,  Birty,  jist  right,  didn't  we  ?  " 

"  You  did  that,"  answered  Birty,  "  to  keep  the  red  dev 
ils  from  killing  me,  and  to  catch  one  of  their  handsomest 
squaws." 

"Where  is  she,  Birty?" 

"  I'll  fetch  her." 

Birty  went  in  pursuit  of  Martha,  and  Clinker's  men  sat 
down  around  the  fire,  from  which  they  had  driven  the  sav 
ages. 

Birty  had  some  difficulty  in  finding  Martha,  but  at  length 
he  succeeded,  and  returned  to  the  camp  with  her.  Martha 
was  in  a  most  gloomy  state  of  mind  in  reference  to  her  sep 
aration  from  her  husband,  for  she  knew  her  disappearance 
would  be  reported  to  him  in  the  most  unfavorable  light — that 
she  would  either  be  considered  dead  or  as  a  fugitive  from  his 
protection.  Strange  as  it  may  appear,  there  was  something 
about  that  Indian  which  had  so  endeared  him  to  her,  that  for 
his  society  she  willingly  relinquished  all  hope  of  return  to 
the  settlements  of  the  whites,  unless  peace  should  be  declared 
between  them  and  the  Indians.  In  condolence  to  Martha, 
Birty  said  to  her  in  his  rough  language,  but  in  a  cheerful 
tone  of  voice : 


Hunter  Birty.  161 

"Don't  take  on  so — you'll  feel  better  arter  a  while,  I'm 
certain." 

When  they  came  near  camp,  Martha  dared  not  look  at 
those  she  considered  her  foes.  Clinker  heard  them  approach, 
and  went  forward  to  meet  Birty — when  he  saw  what  he  sup 
posed  to  be  the  squaw,  he  cried  : 

"  She  needn't  be  afeard  of  us.  We  aint  Ingins  what  burns 
women." 

Martha  recognized  the  voice.  She  suddenly  raised  her 
head,  and  cried : 

"Father!" 

Clinker  caught  her  to  his  bosom,  and  exclaimed : 

"  It's  my  Mat,  sure  as  I'm  a  Clinker!  I'm  cussed  if  this 
aint  luck  !  I  haint  got  as  big  a  grudge  agin  them  red  devils 
as  I  was  trying  to  make  out.  Whar  have  you  been,  Mat  ? 
How'd  you  get  here  ?  What  on  airth  is  this  ?  " 

Clinker  had  just  discovered  the  papoose  Martha  bore  in 
her  arms.  She  held  it  up  before  him. 

"  A  little  Ingin,  eh  ?— Whar'd  ye  get  the  critter,  Mat?  " 

She  dare  not  answer,  and  Birty  said : 

"  It's  her'n,  old  fellow." 

"  Her'n  ?  "  returned  Clinker  in  surprise — "  Her'n  ?  how 
the  devil  d'ye  make  that  out  ?  " 

"  One  o'  them  Ingins  belongin'  to  the  party  you  just  licked 
made  her  his  squaw,"  answered  Birty. 

"  Lightnin',  I'd  liked  to  catched  him  at  it — I'd  a  sent  him 
whar  Ingins  don't  mix  with  white  folks — but  'taint  no  use 
makin'  a  fuss  when  the  game's  gone.  Them  red  varmints 
don't  get  Mat  agin,  as  long  as  old  Clinker's  got  a  rifle." 

These  were  harsh  words  to  Martha's  ear — she  had  often 
wondered  how  her  father  would  receive  the  intelligence  of 
11 


162  Hunter  Birty. 

her  maternal  relations  among  the  Indians,  and  she  had  always 
pictured  him  more  disturbed  in  regard  to  it  than  he  appeared. 
In  this  she  had  cause  for  congratulation,  yet  she  could  not  con 
sider  herself  in  any  other  light  than  as  a  prisoner,  and  her 
heart  was  indeed  sad. 

The  clouds  which  had  overspread  the  sky  had  nearly  all 
disappeared,  and  daylight  approached.  Birty  informed 
Clinker  that  he  had  learned,  from  the  Indians,  of  another  par 
ty  of  warriors,  a  day's  journey  in  advance,  arid  it  was  thought 
politic  not  to  linger  around  the  old  camp  of  the  savages  long- 
ger  than  was  necessary. 

When  the  earliest  rays  of  the  sun  robed  the  tops  of  the 
trees  with  dew-drop  rain  bows,  Clinker's  men  were  all  under 
inarch.  Their  progress  through  the  woods  was  rapid  but 
cautious.  They  did  not  intend  to  be  surprised  by  any  par 
ty  of  Indians,  large  or  small. 

They  were  all  experienced  hunters,  and  they  were  mostly 
men  from  whose  families  the  Indians  had  taken  victims,  or 
whose  homes  had  been  destroyed  by  the  torch  of  the  red  man 


CHAPTER    VII . 

THE  PURSUIT. 

IT  was  late  at  night  when  a  few  straggling  Indians  entered 
a  camp  where  all  was  quiet — where  warriors  lay  slumbering 
around  the  camp  fire,  while  the  silver  moonlight,  falling 
between  the  leaves  of  closely-standing  trees,  faintly  revealed 
their  sombre  forms.  This  was  a  place  of  appointed  rendez 
vous  for  two  parties  of  Indians — the  advanced  party  com 
manded  by  the  husband  of  Martha ;  and  the  party  which 
had  been  beaten  and  dispersed  by  Clinker's  men. 

Sad  was  the  news  which  the  stragglers  brought,  and  when 
a  wild  shout  was  given,  known  as  a  signal  of  ill  fortune,  in 
the  camp  which  had  all  been  repose,  commotion  was  general. 

The  brave  who  appeared  to  command  the  warriors,  was  a 
model  of  rage  and  desperation.  He  cursed  those  who  had 
brought  the  sad  news,  as  cowardly  squaws,  and  he  ordered 
immediate  preparations  for  a  march.  Those  preparations 
were  swiftly  made.  It  was  but  a  short  time  before  the  sav 
ages  were  all  marching  with  quick  step  toward  the  site  of  the 
camp  where  Clinker's  men  had  seen  friend  meet  friend — and 
where  a  daughter,  mourned  as  dead,  had  been  restored  to  a 
father  who  fought  those  among  whom  she  was  a  voluntary  cap 
tive,  and  who,  had  he  met  him,  would  have  slain  the  being 

(163) 


164  Hunter  Birty. 

she  best  loved  on  earth,  with  as  little  compunction  as  he 
•would  have  shot  a  panther  crouching  to  spring  upon  him. 

Meanwhile  Clinker  and  Birty,  with  the  captives  they  had 
liberated,  were  marching  through  the  forest  on  their  way 
toward  Boonesborough.  Their  march  was  conducted  with 
extreme  caution,  because  they  expected  to  meet  other  par 
ties  of  Indians,  and  both  had  dire  vengeance  to  wreak  on  the 
red  men.  There  was  a  great  difference  between  these  two 
men.  Clinker  was  brutal,  even  savage  in  his  nature — Birty 
was  rough-spoken,  and  rough-mannered,  yet  all  who  knew 
him  acknowledged  that  he  had  a  kind  heart.  He  would 
never  shoot  a  wild  beast  unless  he  had  need  of  food  or  cloth 
ing,  and  although  he  killed  every  Indian  on  whom  he  could 
surely  draw  his  rifle  sights,  he  was  never  known  to  take  a 
scalp.  Clinker  always  had  one  or  more  scalps  dangling  from 
his  belt.  Birty  often  talked  with  him  about  this  savage  pro 
pensity,  and  sometimes  Clinker  would  answer : 

"  Them  red  devils  shan't  git  ahead  o'  old  Clinker.  Ef 
they'd  catch  him  his  har'd  be  off  quicker  an'  ye  could  say 
Ingin.  I  want  to  know  how  much  sarvice  I  do  my  country." 

"  You  don't  fight  Ingins  jist  because  they  ain't  white?" 
said  Birty  in  reply  one  day. 

"  I'd  shoot  'em  any  how,"  answered  Clinker ;  "  but  you 
know  I've  got  a  big  spite  agin  'em,  an'  I  shan't  guv  up  'till 
every  moccasin's  druv  out  o'  this  country." 

"  I've  got  a  bigger  spite  agin  'em  than  you  have,  Clinker, 
but  ef  they'd  jist  let  wimmin  and  children  alone,  and  let  me 
go  among  'era  to  hunt  them  little  chaps  I  told  you  about  once, 
I'd  make  friends  with  'em  quicker'n  you  could  shoot  your  old 
rifle,"  said  Birty,  with  deep  feeling,  as  he  strode  away  from 
his  companion,  scarcely  hearing  his  taunt. 


Hunter  Birty.  165 

"  Ef  ye  git  a  cuttin  up  sich  shines,  Birty,  you  won't  be  fit 
to  hunt  Ingins  any  more.  You'll  haf  to  stay  at  the  settle 
ment  and  take  care  o'  the  wimmin." 

The  hunters  had  traveled  two  days,  and  were  drawing  near 
the  settlements.  Clinker,  who,  on  account  of  Martha's  sad 
ness  at  her  separation  from  the  father  of  her  papoose,  had 
watched  her  as  if  he  was  afraid  she  would  desert  him  and 
return  to  his  enemies,  relaxed,  in  a  great  degree,  his  close 
attention  to  her,  and  she  was  quite  at  liberty  on  the  third 
night  to  roam  whither  she  would. 

She  secretly  left  the  camp  with  her  papoose,  and  wan 
dered  into  the  woods  in  the  hope  that  she  might  meet  some 
of  the  Indians  among  whom  she  was  known,  and  by  them  be 
restored  to  her  husband.  She  had  faint  hope  that  she  might 
meet  her  husband,  for  she  knew  that  he  would  pursue  the 
whites  as  soon  as  he  heard  of  her  captivity,  and  it  was  her 
determination  to  keep  him  from  attacking  them  if  she  should 
meet  him  or  any  of  his  followers  before  the  affray  began. 
Her  affections  were  divided  between  the  parties.  She  would 
desert  her  father  for  her  husband,  but  she  must  prevent  her 
husband  from  making  war  upon  her  father.  In  this  mood 
she  watched  until  it  was  nearly  morning.  She  dared  not 
leave  the  camp  altogether,  for  fear  she  might  fall  into  the 
hands  of  some  band  of  Indians  that  would  carry  her  farther 
from  her  husband  than  the  whites,  and  not  be  so  lenient  to 
her  as  her  father  and  Birty.  Her  footsteps  were  heavy 
when  she  turned  them  in  disappointment  towards  her  fath 
er's  camp. 

The  Indian  leader  pursued  the  party  that  had  captured 
his  white  squaw  in  vain.  He  supposed  they  would  hasten  to 
Boonesborough.  He  struck  across  the  country  to  meet  them, 


166  Hunter  Birty. 

and  on  the  third  day  he  would  have  encountered  them ;  but, 
meeting  a  small  company  of  hunters,  Clinker  was  informed 
that  a  party  of  Virginians  had  recently  come  into  the  coun 
try,  and  was  then  at  Harrodsburgh.  He  determined  to  visit 
the  Fort.  Birty  had  no  objections,  and  the  rest  of  the  band 
were  not  particular  whither  they  were  led.  Their  course 
had  therefore  been  changed.  By  this  maneuver  the  pursuing 
Indians  were  somewhat  baffled,  but  when  Martha  was  going 
back  from  her  search  in  the  forest,  her  husband  was  nearer 
than  she  supposed.  At  the  head  of  a  small  party  of  tired 
warriors  he  was  about  to  attack  the  hunters,  when  he  saw 
Martha  as  she  passed  between  him  and  the  camp-fire.  He 
gave  a  signal  known  only  between  them,  which,  though  heard 
by  the  hunters,  caused  no  alarm.  Martha,  hoping  yet  fear 
ing,  drew  near  him — so  near  that  he  spoke  to  her.  Her 
heart  bounded  as  she  recognized  his  voice,  and  in  a  moment 
she  was  leading  him  far  away  from  her  father's  men. 

"  Stop,"  he  said,  "  I  must  lead  my  men  against  the  pale 
faces  who  shot  our  warriors.  They  will  have  revenge — " 

"  My  father  is  there,"  answered  Martha,  "  and  he  whom 
I  have  spoken  of  as  a  brother.  I  have  deserted  them  to  go 
back  with  you.  You  must  not  attack  them.  I  love  you, 
but  I  love  them,  and  I  will  protect  them.  They  are  many 
— they  are  brave — they  might  kill  you  and  all  jour  war 
riors.  If  you  attack  them,  kill  me,  for  I  will  go  back  to 
them  if  I  am  alive." 

The  warrior  bowed  his  head,  and  muttered  stern  Indian 
oaths,  but  Martha  was  firm,  and  with  a  signal  he  led  his 
warriors  away. 

They  were  surprised  that  he  did  not  attack  the  hunters, 


Hunter  Birty.  167 

but  had  confidence  in  their  leader  and  dare  not  question  his 
orders  or  his  motives. 

Clinker,  who  had  been  wandering  about  the  woods  for 
sometime,  called  Birty  to  one  side  and  said : 

"  Mat's  gone  as  sure  as  shootin',  papoose  and  all.  I've 
been  huntin'  her  for  half  an  hour,  an'  I  can't  git  trail  of 
her.  There's  been  red  devils,  or  she's  run  off  expectin'  to 
find  that  varmint  you  say's  her  papoose's  daddy.  I'm  goin' 
arter  her,  and  you  must  go  along." 

<•  To-night  ?  "  said  Birty. 

"  Yes,  right  off,"  answered  Clinker. 

"  You're  mad,"  returned  Birty.  "  Somethin's  turned  your 
head.  What'd  you  do  in  the  woods  now,  findin'  Ingins,  when 
you  could'nt  see  one  two  rods  off.  'Taint  no  use,  Clinker. 
Wait  for  daylight,  then  we  can  track  the  varmints,  and  we'll 
git  'em  afore  night." 

Clinker  was  obliged  to  yield  to  Birty,  but  was  restless  and 
impatient. 

He  was  inclined  to  believe  that  Martha  had  voluntarily 
fled,  but  Birty  said  he  supposed  the  White  Eagle,  as  she 
called  her  warrior,  had  overtaken  their  party  and  with  a  sig 
nal  called  her  away.  If  so  the  hunters  might  guard  for  an 
attack.  Birty's  advice  was  acted  upon.  Clinker  was  the 
most  watchful  of  the  guards.  He  started  at  every  sound, 
and  often  grasped  his  rifle  tightly,  and  felt  for  his  knife  and 
tomahawk,  as  if  he  had  detected  foes  stealthily  approaching, 
but  no  cause  for  real  alarm  existed.  At  each  of  these  out 
bursts  the  hunter  would  renew  his  vows  of  hostility  to  the 
red  man  with  increased  bitterness,  and  when  the  soft  light  of 
morning  began  to  come  down  on  the  hills,  he  was  almost  in  a 
frenzy  of  rage  and  desperation. 


i68  Hunter  Birty. 

It  was  a  misty  morning,  and  as  day  advanced  a  gentle  rain 
fell,  which  early  in  the  forenoon  was  diversified  with  brisk 
showers.  The  hunters  held  a  council  and  instituted  a  shrewd 
search  for  Indian  "  signs  "  around  their  camp.  They  found 
enough  to  convince  them  that  Birty's  opinion  concerning 
Martha's  disappearance  was  correct,  but  on  account  of  the 
rain  they  could  not  surely  follow  the  savages. 

Clinker  was  desperate,  and  urged  his  companions  to  a  pur 
suit  at  all  hazards.  They  were  determined  to  pursue  their 
march  to  Harrodsburg,  unless  plain  Indian  "  signs  "  could  be 
discovered,  and  Clinker  was  obliged  to  relinquish  the  hope  of 
immediate  revenge  and  rescue.  He  consoled  himself  with  a 
promise  that  after  a  few  days  spent  at  the  Fort  in  preparing 
ammunition  and  clothing,  Birty  would  accompany  him,  with 
such  volunteers  as  could  be  raised,  on  an  expedition  across 
the  Ohio  into  the  western  country,  where,  as  Birty  had 
reported,  the  Indians  were  collecting  for  the  purpose  of 
attacking  the  people  of  "  Kaintuck"  in  a  body. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

AN  OFFICIAL  EXPEDITION. 

THE  spring  of  1778  had  come.  In  the  spring  of  1776, 
George  Rogers  Clark,  (a  name  ever  to  be  mentioned  with 
honor  and  respect  in  the  eventful  history  of  Kentucky,)  a 
second  time  visited  those  vast  and  enticing  hunting  grounds — 
that  "  favorite  theatre  of  romantic  adventure."  By  his  noble 
ness  arid  valor  he  gained  the  confidence  of  the  people  who 
had  settlements  in  that  wild  region.  He  saw,  with  states 
man-like  foresight,  the  value  of  those  lands  to  Virginia  as  a 
frontier,  and  he  assembled  the  people  at  Harrodsburg  to 
devise  means  of  public  defense.  At  this  meeting,  Clark  and 
Gabriel  Jones  were  chosen  members  of  the  Assembly  of  Vir 
ginia.  This  choice  could  not  give  the  gentlemen  elect  seats 
in  the  Assembly,  but  they  resolved  at  all  events  to  visit  the 
seat  of  Government,  then  at  Williamsburg.  They  found  that 
the  Legislature  had  adjourned ;  but  Clark  would  not  relin 
quish  the  object  of  his  mission,  and  he  obtained  from  the 
Executive  Council  an  order  for  five  hundred  weight  of  pow 
der,  for  the  defense  of  the  Kentucky  stations.  This  order 
was  received  on  the  23d  of  August,  1776.  Patrick  Henry, 
then  Governor  of  Virginia,  assisted  Clark  greatly  in  his 
efforts  for  the  protection  of  Kentucky.  At  the  next  session 

(169) 


Hunter  Birty. 

of  the  Legislature,  held  in  the  fall  of  1776,  a  petition  from 
Jones  and  Clark  was  received,  and  the  "  county  of  Ken 
tucky,"  embracing  the  limits  of  the  present  State,  was  cre 
ated.  Owing  mainly  to  the  excellent  management  and  judi 
cious  watchfulness  of  Clark,  the  powder  for  which  he  had 
received  an  order,  was  safely  conveyed  from  Pittsburgh  to 
Harrodsburg.  In  the  spring  of  1777,  the  Kentucky  militia 
was  organized,  and  the  whites  were  then  prepared  to  repel 
the  invasions  of  the  Indians  upon  their  settlements.  Hith 
erto  the  Indians  had  only  met  small  bands  of  the  backwoods 
men,  fighting  generally  in  their  own  defense,  or  in  protection 
of  their  homes  and  families. 

In  the  fall  of  1777,  Clark  again  left  Kentucky  for  Vir 
ginia.  He  returned  as  Colonel  George  Rogers  Clark,  with 
two  sets  of  instructions — one  public,  for  the  defense  of  Ken 
tucky  ;  the  other  secret,  ordering  an  attack  upon  the  British 
post  Kaskaskia.  On  the  4th  of  February,  1778,  Colonel 
Clark,  as  he  himself  expressed  it,  "  clothed  with  all  the 
authority  he  could  wish,"  left  Virginia  to  carry  out  his  secret 
instructions. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  our  story  that  we  should  follow 
Clark's  career  minutely.  It  is  a  part  of  the  History  of  Ken 
tucky,  familiar  to  her  sons  and  daughters.  They  know  his 
adventures  on  the  Ohio,  from  Fort  Pitt  to  the  Falls,  where 
he  fixed  a  post  by  fortifying  Corn  Island,  opposite  Louisville. 
There  he  disclosed  to  his  troops  their  real  destination,  and 
was  assured  that  he  had  their  confidence.  All  ardently  con 
curred  in  the  plan,  excepting  one  company,  a  part  of  which 
fled  from  the  post,  and  many  of  them  succeeded  in  reaching 
Harrodsburg,  but  on  account  of  their  dastardly  conduct,  were 
refused  admittance  to  the  fort. 


Hunter  Birty.  171 

It  was  a  gloomy  day  when  Colonel  Clark's  men,  in  their 
shallow  boats,  passed  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio.  The  sun  was  in 
a  total  eclipse,  and  the  darkness  of  night  was  upon  the  water. 
Some  of  the  superstitious  thought  this  an  omen  of  ill-luck, 
but  none  dare  mention  their  fears  except  to  a  few  friends,  in 
their  especial  confidence.  No  adventure  worthy  of  record, 
however,  occurred,  until  the  troops  were  landed  on  an  island 
near  the  mouth  of  the  Tennessee  river. 

There  Clark  had  rested  but  a  few  hours,  when  he  was  in 
formed  that  a  party  of  hunters  had  encamped  within  a  short 
distance  of  his  troops.  He  ordered  that  they  be  invited  to 
visit  him.  Several  accepted  his  invitation.  They  proved  to 
be  a  company  from  Kentucky  settlements.  One  of  the  hunt 
ers  was  acquainted  with  a  number  of  the  men  in  Clark's  com 
mand.  The  Colonel  observing  this,  desired  to  speak  with 
him.  When  the  individual  was  brought  into  his  presence  he 
said  :  "  I  understand  that  you  are  a  Virginian." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I'm  one  o'  the  Big  Knifes,  but  all  the  chaps 
whav  I've  been  didn't  know  it,  or  'praps  I  hadn't  been  here 
'oa^rig  friends  agin." 

"  May  I  inquire  your  name  ?  "  said  Clark. 
"  The  poonle  what  know  me,  sir,  call  me  Tom  Clinker." 
"  You  say  you  have  recently  visited  Kaskaskia." 
'•I  went  up  that  way  a  couple  of  months  or  so  ago,  after 
a  daughter  I'm  trying  to  git  from  the  Ingins." 
';  Can  you  tell  me  who  is  the  commander  ?  " 
"  I've  heard  the  name,  but  its  worse  an'  Ingin,  an'  I  aint 
good  at  twistin'  out  such  fellows.     But  I  can  tell  you,  sir,  he 
aint  no  fool.     He's  a  wide  awake  chap,  an'  he  keeps  a  sharp 
look  out.     He  tells  the  Ingins  and  the  hunters  that  Virginia 


172  Hunter  Birty. 

boys  are  worse  than  savages.  They  call  'era  Big  Knife  out 
here,  and  the're  as  feared  as  death  on  'em." 

"  That  will  not  be  to  our  disadvantage."  answered  Clark. 
"  Now,  tell  me  what  you  think  about  the  number  of  men  I 
have  being  able  to  take  Kaskaskia." 

"  You  could  do  it  jist  as  easy  as  I'd  take  an  old  bear,  but 
you  must  do  it  a  leetle  in  the  same  style — take  the  critter 
when  he  don't  know  what's  goin'  to  happen  him." 

"  I  understand  you  "  said  Clark  and  am  obliged  to  you  for 
the  information  you  have  given." 

"  Well,  look  here,  Colonel,  some  of  us  fellows  thought 
we'd  jist  like  to  go  back  there  and  help  drive  them  British 
ers  off  our  ground.  Ef  you  want  any  of  our  help,  jist  let 
me  know  it,  an'  we're  ready  to  start." 

"  Where  are  the  men  who  would  join  us?  "  inquired  Clark. 

"  I'll  fotch  a  few  of  'em,"  answered  Clinker,  as  he  started 
in  quest  of  Birty  and  his  companions." 

Clark  followed  him,  and  soon  met  the  most  of  the  hunters 
in  a  body.  They  composed  the  party  that  had  gone  out  ac 
cording  to  Birty's  promise  when  Clinker  consented  to  return 
to  Harrodsburg.  They  were  all  willing  to  accompany  Clark. 
The  information  which  Clinker  had  given  him  was  confirmed. 
He  learned  that  the  name  of  the  commander  at  Kaskaskia 
was  M.  Rochcblane,  and  hearing  more  detailed  accounts  of 
the  dread  in  which  the  Virginians  were  held  by  the  British 
and  their  allies,  he  determined,  as  Mann  Butler  says  in  his 
History  of  Kentucky,  "  to  enlist  this  national  apprehension 
in  his  service,  and  employ  it  as  an  auxiliary  to  his  diminutive 
force."  As  important  aids  in  the  furtherance  of  this  plan, 
Clark  gladly  accepted  the  offer  of  the  hunters  to  join  his 
brave  band. 


Hunter  Birty.  173 

After  this  accession  to  his  forces,  Clark  ordered  the  boats 
to  be  prepared,  and  the  whole  party  dropped  down  the  river 
a  few  miles.  A  short  distance  above  what  was  then  known 
as  Fort  Massac,  the  boats  were  concealed,  and  with  their 
commander  sharing,  as  one  of  them,  all  the  fatigues  and  pri 
vations  of  a  march  through  the  wilderness,  the  Kentuckians 
and  Virginians  traveled  across  the  present  State  of  Illinois 
toward  the  ancient  French  village  of  Kaskaskia.  Clark  un 
derstood  well  the  manner  of  conducting  a  forest  expedition, 
and  no  adventure  of  importance  happened  to  his  company 
until  the  third  day.  The  principal  guide  then  became  be 
wildered. 

Suspicion  was  immediately  excited  among  the  wily  Ken 
tuckians,  and  a  general  cry  arose  against  the  unfortunate 
hunter.  Birty  knew  this  man  well,  and  he  knew  he  was  no 
traitor,  and  when  others  clamored  against  him,  he  said : 

"  Give  the  feller  a  chance.  He'll  fotch  things  straight. 
I'll  see  the  Colonel." 

Hastening  where  Clark  was  consulting  about  the  guide's 
conduct,  Birty  made  bold  to  say, 

"  Tain't  fair  to  make  a  fellow  out  meaner  than  an  Ingin 
till  you've  give  him  a  chance.  He's  only  a  little  stuck  just 
now.  He's  true  as  my  old  rifle,  an'  when  he  gets  the  cob 
webs  out  of  his  head,  he'll  tell  whar  we  are  just  as  easy  as 
I  can  tell  whar  a  red  skin  is  when  I  get  a  fair  sight  on  him." 

The  guide  begged  that  he  might  have  a  chance  to  estab 
lish  his  innocence.  Clark  was  not  a  man  to  condemn  a  fellow 
soldier  without  good  reason.  He  said  to  the  guide : 

"  You  have  told  us  that  you  have  often  traveled  this  route, 
that  you  know  this  country  well.  I  will  give  you  a  fair  op 
portunity  to  recover  yourself,  but  then,  if  you  do  not  conduct 


174  Hunter  Birty. 

the  detachment  into  the  hunter's  road  leading  to  Kaskaskia, 
you  shall  be  hung." 

Accompanied  by  Birty,  Clinker  and  one  or  two  soldiers, 
the  guide  went  into  the  prairie  in  full  view,  and  after  about 
an  hour's  examination,  found  a  place  which  he  recollected ; 
he  then  knew  his  whereabouts  precisely,  and  had  no  fears 
that  his  innocence  would  not  be  established.  When  he  had 
again  gained  the  confidence  of  his  commander  and  his  fellow 
soldiers,  Birty  said  to  some  of  those  who  had  clamored  against 
him, 

"  Now  you  see,  don't  you,  how  you'd  strung  a  poor  fellow 
up  afore  he  had  a  chance  to  say  his  prayers — all  for  nothin', 
too.  I'd  think  myself  tarnal  mean,  ef  I'd  treat  the  ugliest 
red-skin  arter  that  fashion.  Ef  the  Colonel  hadn't  know'd 
more'n  you  possum  heads,  we'd  all  been  up  a  stump  now,  un 
less  'praps  some  o'  the  rest  o'  our  chaps  could  ?ve  told  whar 
this  trail  was." 

Such  was  the  rough  but  noble  character  of  the  true  Ken 
tucky  hunter  of  those  days. 

On  the  evening  of  the  4th  of  July,  1778,  the  soldiers  and 
hunters  encamped  within  a  few  miles  of  the  town  their  com 
mander  designed  to  attack. 

It  was  the  second  anniversary  of  the  Declaration  of  Amer 
ican  Independence,  and  it  was  talked  of  that  night  as  the 
hunters  and  soldiers  gathered  in  groups,  with  a  spirit  which 
showed  that  the  men  were  all  ready  to  sell  their  lives  in  its 
defense.  No  guns  were  fired  in  its  honor,  but  many  resolves 
were  formed  under  its  influence. 

If  the  men  of  our  day  had  the  chivalrous  respect  for  that 
instrument  which  those  rude  hunters  and  soldiers  felt,  and 
were  ready  to  manifest  it  at  the  cannon's  mouth,  the  observ- 


Hunter  Birty.  175 

ance  of  the  national  holiday  would  be  more  general  and  ap 
propriate.  It  would  not  be  observed  merely  by  the  firing  of 
squibs,  in  the  streets  of  our  villages  and  cities,  and  by  the 
booming  of  cannon,  and  by  rhetorical  speeches  in  our  groves, 
but  all  the  people  with  thoughtful  hearts  would  remember  and 
do  honor  to  the  valiant  men  who  declared  our  independence 
—and  at  each  return  of  its  anniversary  the  bonds  of  our 
Union  would  be  strengthened. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  SURPRISE. 

THE  shades  of  night  had  fallen  upon  the  forest,  when  the 
order  to  prepare  for  march  was  communicated  to  the  differ 
ent  companies  of  Clark's  detachment.  The  Colonel,  recog 
nizing  the  intelligence  and  trustworthiness  of  Birty,  had  con 
sulted  him  frequently.  The  hunter  had  been  a  close  observer, 
during  his  brief  visit  with  Clinker,  to  Kaskaskia,  and  he  ad 
vised  extreme  caution  in  approaching  the  town.  He  assured 
Clark  that  its  means  of  defense  were  not  formidable,  but  a 
large  body  of  Indians  might  lurk  in  or  near  it. 

The  Colonel  accordingly  arranged  his  plans  for  a  complete 
surprise,  and  for  such  a  display  of  his  forces  as  would  make 
the  "  Long  Knifes  "  appear  quite  as  terrible  as  the  Kaskas- 
kians  had  been  led  to  believe  them.  In  boats  which  had 
been  secretly  procured,  the  Virginians  and  Kentuckians  were 
all  safely  transported  across  the  river  Cahokia,  which  flows 
past  the  town.  Clark,  with  the  third  division  of  the  detach 
ment,  proceeded  to  the  fort  within  point  blank  shot  of  the 
town,  while  the  other  divisions  prepared  to  make  simultane 
ous  attacks  upon  different  quarters  of  the  village.  Clark 
was  successful,  and  when  an  appointed  signal  was  given,  the 
inhabitants  of  Kaskaskia,  reposing  in  fancied  security,  found 


Hunter  Birty.  177 

themselves  suddenly  surrounded  by  foes  they  had  been  taught 
to  dread  more  than  the  most  wily  and  cruel  Indians. 

With  mad  shouts  and  terrible  yells,  in  the  Indian  style, 
Clark's  men  rushed  through  the  streets,  and  those  who  could 
speak  French  cried  at  the  top  of  their  voices  that  every  man 
of  the  enemy  who  entered  the  street  would  be  instantly  shot. 
The  town,  consisting  of  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  houses, 
was  completely  surrounded,  and  in  less  than  two  hours,  the 
inhabitants  were  disarmed,  and  without  the  shedding  of  a 
drop  of  blood,  Kaskaskia  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  shrewd 
and  valorous  Clark. 

When  the  troops  first  entered  the  village,  Birty  led  a  small 
party  to  the  Governor's  house.  Their  design  was  to  seize 
upon  the  public  papers,  it  being  supposed  that  many  of  them 
would  be  highly  important  to  the  Americans.  The  Governor 
was  taken  prisoner  without  difficulty,  but  no  papers  of  import 
ance  could  be  found.  Every  part  of  the  house  was  diligently 
searched,  except  the  private  apartments  of  the  Governor's 
wife.  When  the  diligent  search  had  proved  fruitless,  one 
soldier  proposed  that  the  lady's  trunks  be  broken  open.  Bir 
ty  heard  this  proposition,  and  with  a  nobleness  which  charac 
terized  him  on  all  such  occasions,  he  chivalrously  stepped  for 
ward  and  cried : 

"  Thar  ain't  a  Kaintuck  here  dare  do  that.  None  'o  you 
would  insult  that  lady  for  all  the  documents  in  creation." 

Immediately  headed  by  Birty,  the  men  withdrew,  and  the 
public  property,  if  any  had  been  secreted  by  Madame  Roche- 
blarie,  was  saved.  « 

During  the  whole  night  Clark's  men  patrolled  the  town  in 
true  Indian  fashion,  keeping  up  the  utmost  tumult  by  whoop 
ing  and  yelling  as  the  Kaskaskians  never  before  heard  white 
'  12 


178  Hunter  Birty. 

men  whoop  and  yell,  and  the  people  thought  that,  indeed, 
their  enemy  was  as  barbarous  as  had  been  represented. 

On  the  following  day  Clark  withdrew  his  troops  from  the 
town,  and  stationed  them  at  various  commanding  positions  in 
the  vicinity.  No  intercourse  with  each  other  or  with  the  sol 
diers  had  been  allowed  the  inhabitants,  and  their  anticipa 
tions  were  of  the  most  gloomy  character;  it  is  therefore  not 
strange  that  when  the  troops  were  removed,  and  they  found 
themselves  free  to  walk  the  streets,  they  gathered  together 
and  had  animated  conversation  in  regard  to  the  destruction 
that  threatened  them.  Perceiving  these  movements,  Clark 
had  a  number  of  the  prominent  citizens  arrested.  A  priest 
of  the  village  having  witnessed  Birty's  noble  conduct  at  the 
Governor's  house,  sought  the  hunter  and  desired  that  he  re 
quest  permission  for  a  deputation  of  citizens  to  wait  on  the 
American  commander.  Birty  hastened  to  Clark's  quarters, 
and  obtained  this  permission. 

Pitiful  indeed  was  the  sight  presented  to  the  chief  citizens 
of  Kaskaskia,  and  great  was  their  astonishment  when,  in 
their  best  array,  they  waited  upon  their  conquerer  and  his 
fellow  officers.  Dirty  and  ragged,  the  appearance  of  the 
Virginians  was  indeed  frightful  to  the  deputation  of  refined 
and  delicate  Frenchmen.  They  were  unable  to  tell  the  com- 
mander-in-chief  from  those  around  him,  and  they  looked  up 
on  the  whole  band  as  if  convinced  by  observation  that  they 
were  as  savage  as  they  had  been  represented. 

Clark  demanded  their  business,  and  when  they  had  learned 
that  he  was  commander,  the  priest  said, 

"  You  have  conquered  our  village,  and  our  people  are  to 
be  separated,  perhaps  never  to  meet  again  on  earth.     We 


Hunter  Birty.  179 

desire  that  you  will  grant  us  the  privilege  of  assembling  in 
our  house  of  worship,  there  to  take  leave  of  each  other." 

Clark  knew  that  these  people  thought  their  religion  obnox 
ious  to  the  Americans,  and  like  a  true  American,  he  replied. 

"  We  leave  every  man's  conscience  with  his  God.  We 
have  no  quarrel  with  you  because  of  your  religion,  and  you 
are  at  liberty  to  assemble  at  the  church,  but  not  a  single  indi 
vidual  must  attempt  to  leave  the  town." 

The  gentlemen  of  Kaskaskia  endeavored  to  prolong  the 
conversation,  but  Clark  dismissed  them  cavalierly,  in  order 
to  heighten  their  alarm.  The  entire  people  left  their  houses 
and  assembled  at  their  church,  where  the  priests  celebrated 
mass.  A  deputation  then  waited  upon  Clark  to  thank  him 
for  his  indulgence,  and  the  people  returned  to  their  houses, 
and  found  them  as  they  were  left.  No  soldier  had  attempted 
to  rob  or  pillage. 

When  the  deputation  that  waited  upon  Clark  had  returned 
thanks  to  him  for  the  indulgence  he  had  granted,  they  begged 
leave,  at  the  request  of  the  inhabitants,  to  address  their  con- 
querer.  Clark  having  signified  his  willingness  to  hear  the 
address,  one  chosen  as  spokesman  said, 

"  We  are  prisoners  of  war,  and  we  submit  to  the  loss  of 
our  property,  but  we  pray  that  we  may  not  be  separated  from 
our  wives  and  our  children.  Our  conduct  has  been  influ 
enced  by  the  commandants  whom  we  had.  Our  position  is 
not  favorable  to  the  reception  of  accurate  knowledge,  and  we 
do  not  know  the  real  merits  of  the  war  between  Great  Britain 
and  your  people.  Many  of  us  have,  however,  been  inclined 
to  favor  the  Americans,  but  we  ask  not  our  property.  We 
only  ask  that  we  may  be  left  free  to  take  care  of  our  wives 
and  children." 


l8o  Hunter  Birty. 

Clark  now  fairly  saw  the  dread  in  which  his  little  army 
was  held,  and  he  resolved,  in  a  spirit  of  honorable  chivalry, 
to  carry  out  the  lenient  views  it  had  from  the  first  been  his 
purpose  to  make  known,  when  the  opportune  moment  came. 
He  conceived  that  the  period  for  this  stroke  of  policy  had 
arrived,  and  turning  abruptly  toward  the  speaker  who  had 
addressed  him,  said  : 

"  Do  you  take  us  for  savages  ?  I  am  almost  certain  you 
do,  from  your  language.  Do  you  think  that  we  intend  to 
strip  innocent  women  and  children,  or  take  the  bread  out  of 
their  mouths  ?  My  countrymen  disdain  to  make  war  upon 
helpless  innocence.  It  is  to  prevent  Indian  butcheries  that 
we  are  here.  The  King  of  France  has  united  his  arms  to 
those  of  our  people  against  the  British,  and  the  war  will  soon 
be  over ;  but  you  are  at  liberty  to  take  whatever  side  you 
please.  We  have  no  disagreement  with  you  on  account  of 
your  religion.  You  are  at  liberty  to  conduct  yourselves  as 
you  please,  without  apprehension  from  my  troops.  Your 
friends  in  confinement  shall  be  immediately  released." 

The  deputation  was  more  astonished  and  agitated  at  this 
chivalrous  speech  than  they  had  been  in  the  midst  of  their 
greatest  terrors.  An  apology  for  considering  the  Virginians 
and  Kentuckians  barbarians  was  offered,  but  Clark  refused 
to  hearken  to  explanation,  and  said: 

"  Relieve  the  anxieties  of  your  people,  and  inform  them 
that  I  only  ask  of  them  to  comply  with  the  terms  of  a  proc 
lamation  which  I  shall  shortly  issue." 

Birty,  with  an  order  from  Clark,  flew  to  the  relief  of  the 
prisoners.  In  a  few  moments  they  were  all  at  their  homes, 
and  the  'sad  dejection  of  the  village  was  changed  into  most 
tumultuous  joy.  All  the  bells  of  the  town  were  rung — the 


Hunter  Birty.  181 

people  shouted  in  the  streets — women  wept  for  joy — prayers 
of  thankfulness  were  offered  in  the  houses,  and  the  church 
was  crowded  with  rejoicing  people,  who  joined  the  priests 
most  fervently  in  offerings  of  praise  and  prayer. 

Colonel  Clark  had  determined  upon  the  taking  of  the  little 
town  of  Cahokia,  situated  about  sixty  miles  from  Kaskaskia. 
When  the  people  of  Kaskaskia  heard  of  this  expedition,  many 
desired  the  privilege  of  accompanying  the  Virginians.  They 
said  the  people  of  Cahokia  were  their  friends  and  relatives, 
and,  at  their  advice,  would  surrender  without  bloodshed. 
Clark  allowed  such  as  desired,  to  accompany  his  soldiers. 
Birty  and  Clinker  were  among  the  Americans. 

Clinker  learned  that,  about  sixty  miles  up  the  Mississippi, 
there  was  a  large  body  of  Indians,  and  he  determined  as  soon 
as  it  was  practicable  to  pursue  them,  under  the  belief  that 
his  daughter  might  be  among  them. 

The  people  of  Kaskaskia  did  not  misrepresent  those  of 
Cahokia.  The  town  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans 
without  the  firing  of  a  gun,  or  the  shedding  of  a  drop  of 
blood — a  manner  of  warfare  most  exemplary  for  that  day, 
and  even  for  this. 

Clinker  and  Birty  had  permission  from  Clark  to  scout, 
with  a  small  party,  in  the  vicinity  of  Cahokia,  and  they  did 
not  let  the  opportunity  pass  unimproved.  They  reconnoitered 
the  camp  of  Indians,  of  which  they  had  word,  but  failed  to 
discover  anything  which  gave  them  reason  to  believe  that  the 
object  of  their  search  was  among  the  savages.  Birty  knew 
the  characteristics  of  the  tribe  to  which  Martha's  husband, 
who  was  called  White  Eagle,  belonged,  and  he  saw  none  of 
them  there. 

The  Indians  were  in  too  large  a  body  to  be  attacked  by 


182  Hunter  Birty. 

the  scouts,  and  they  dare  not  harass  the  small  bands  that 
went  into  the  woods,  lest  the  main  body  be  alarmed,  pursue 
them,  and  make  sad  havoc  in  their  ranks.  The  time  for 
which  they  were  empowered  to  act  as  scouts  having  nearly 
expired,  Clinker  consented  to  give  up  the  pursuit  of  his 
daughter  in  that  direction.  The  hunters  set  their  faces 
toward  Kaskaskia.  They  had  traveled  about  half  the  dis 
tance  between  Cahokia  and  Kaskaskia,  when  they  surprised 
a  band  of  Indians,  killed  three,  arid  took  one  prisoner. 

That  prisoner  was  a  young  squaw,  and  the  most  beautiful 
one  the  hunters  had  ever  seen.  They  endeavored  to  learn 
from  her  the  destination  of  the  Indians,  and  the  tribe  to 
which  she  belonged.  Btrty  spoke  to  her  in  the  Indian 
tongue,  but  she  answered  him  not.  She  did  not  seem  to 
hear  him,  but  stood  before  him  as  mute  and  immovable  as  a 
statue.  Again  and  again.  Birty  endeavored  to  call  her  at 
tention,  but  he  received  no  more  intimation  from  her  that  he 
was  heard  than  he  did  from  the  trunks  of  the  trees  around 
him.  Her  head  was  bent  forward  upon  her  breast,  and  her 
eyes  were  not  lifted  from  the  ground. 

"  She's  a  dumb  Ingin,  I  reckon,"  said  Clinker.  ':  Who 
ever  heard  of  one  afore  ?  We'll  take  her  to  Kaskaskia  as  a 
curiosity." 

"  Don't  be  fooled  by  a  possum,"  said  one  of  the  men  in 
answer  to  Clinker.  He  replied  : 

"  I  reckon  if  we  keep  our  eyes  on  her,  she  can't  do  much 
harm  if  she  does  play  possum — but  I  don't  believe  the  critter 
can  either  hear  or  talk.  She's  about  han'some  enough, 
though,  an'  it's  a  great  pity  if  she  don't  know  it,  when  sich 
rough  chaps  as  we  are  tell  her  so." 

The  captive  was  given  into  Birty 's  care.     She  walked  by 


Hunter  Birty.  183 

his  side — made  no  attempts  to  escape,  and  was  willing  in  all 
respects  to  be  directed  by  him  ;  but  she  seldom  lifted  her 
dark  eyes  from  the  ground,  and  gave  no  heed  to  the  words 
of  kindness  which' he  addressed  to  her. 


CHAPTER    X  . 

A    TREACHEROUS    PLOT. 

THE  latter  part  of  the  month  of  August  had  come ;  the 
fruits  of  the  glorious  summer  were  passing  away  before  the 
rapid  approach  of  the  sad  but  beautiful  season,  when 

"  Mid  autumn's  purple  sunsets, 

A  dirge  note  swells  the  blast, 

And  tells  that  soon  the  brightness 

Of  the  year  will  all  be  past." 

Colonel  Clark  was  shrewdly  watching  the  movements  of 
the  Indians,  and  was  about  to  form  treaties  with  the  different 
tribes.  Several  bands  had  assembled  at  Kaskaskia  to  smoke 
th.e  calumet.  It  was  not  his  policy  to  invite  the  red  men  to 
a  treaty,  but  to  wait  a  request  for  peace  from  them.  He 
understood  Indian  character,  and  when  he  had  concluded  a 
treaty,  the  Indians  had  confidence  that  the  Virginians,  or 
"  Big  Knives,  had  but  one  heart,  and  did  not  speak  with 
forked  tongues,"  as  one  of  the  chiefs  emphatically  declared 
at  the  first  council  with  him. 

When  Clark  had  concluded  amicable  arrangements  with 
several  of  the  principal  tribes  of  the  then  populous  Indian 
country,  Birty  and  Clinker,  who,  week  after  week,  with  a 
small  party  of  hunters,  had  traversed  the  Illinois  forests  and 

(184) 


Hunter  Birty.  185 

prairies,  returned  to  the  camp  of  tfte  Big  Knife.  They 
wandered  freely  among  the  savages,  Birty  in  the  hope  of 
meeting  that  countenance  which  Martha  had  described  to 
him,  when  he  met  her  in  the  Kentucky  forest,  and  Clinker 
in  the  hope  of  gaining  some  definite  tidings  of  his  tost  daugh 
ter. 

Industriously  each  had  pursued  his  search  for  several  days, 
without  the  slightest  clue  to  its  object,  when,  returning  to  the 
village  late  one  evening,  Birty  discovered  that  a  small  party  of 
Indians  he  had  not  before  seen,  had  encamped  upon  the  oppo 
site  bank  of  the  little  creek  of  Cahokia.  Secreted  in  a  clump 
of  bushes  near  the  water's  edge,  he  warbled  those  notes  which 
he  had  learned  from  the  forest  birds.  Those  were  strange 
sounds  for  that  region,  when  the  sun  had  gone  to  shed  light 
upon  another  hemisphere,  and  the  pale  stars  twinkled  in  the 
firmament.  They  blended  with  the  whisperings  of  the  night 
breeze,  and  with  the  gentle  murmuring  of  the  stream  that 
flowed  at  the  musician's  feet,  and  died  away  in  the  distance 
without  echo.  Again  those  wild-bird  notes  rose  upon  the 
balmy  air,  and  when  the  musician  listened  to  hear  them  die 
away,  a  faint  echo,  with  softened  cadence,  was  borne  to  his 
ear.  lie  uttered  one  shrill  note.  It  was  echoed,  not  faintly, 
but  quite  distinctly — again  he  uttered  it,  and  again  it  was 
answered.  He  was  confident,  then,  that  one.  object  of  his  search 
was  in  this  Indian  camp.  He* watched  the  opposite  shore  of 
the  creek  for  an  hour  eagerly,  and  was  about  to  turn  toward 
the  village  and  take  the  chance  of  meeting  the  white  squaw 
on  the  morrow,  when  he  heard  a  shrill  note,  coming,  as  it 
were,  from  the  bank  directly  opposite.  Presently  a  canoe 
shot  out  into  the  stream,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Birt^  sat  with 
Martha  Clinker,  talking  over  the  adventures  she  had  met 


i86  Hunter  Birty. 

since  she  deserted  her  father's  camp  in  Kentucky.  Through 
her  influence  White  Eagle  had  brought  his  braves  to  Kaskas- 
kia  to  ascertain  what  terms  of  peace  the  Big  Knives  proposed. 

When  Martha  concluded  her  narrative,  she  said  : 

"  You  know  where  my  father  is  ?  " 

"  Among  the  whites  in  the  village,"  answered  Birty. 
'•  He  has  been  seeking  you  ever  since  you  left  him." 

"I  wish  I  could  see  him,"  Martha  answered ;  "  but  you 
must  not  tell  him  I  am  here.  I  will  not  live  among  the  white 
people  unless  my  husband  goes  with  me." 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  that  I  have  seen  you  ?  " 

"  Not  until  we  meet  again.  I  must  return  now.  I  shall 
be  missed,  and  it  may  not  be  well  for  us  to  be  watched." 

"  Shall  I  hear  the  wild-bird  to-morrow  night  ?"  said  Birty. 

"  If  I  am  not  watched,"  answered  Martha. 

The  light  canoe  shot  out  into  the  current,  and  the  hunter 
turned  his  steps  toward  the  village.  He  did  not  neglect  to 
inform  an  officer  in  Clark's  confidence,  of  the  addition  to 
the  Indian  forces. 

On  the  morrow  Clinker  visited  the  new  Indian  camp.  He 
mingled  freely  with  the  savages,  and  looked  eagerly  at  every 
squaw,  but  he  did  not  see  his  daughter.  She  saw  him,  how 
ever,  but  dare  not  meet  him.  She  pointed  him  out  to  the 
White  Eagle,  and  said  : 

"  I  know  you  are  a  warrior  of  honor.  You  know  I  fled 
from  my  father  to  dwell  with  you  in  the  wigwam.  Promise 
me,  that  let  you  meet  him  where  you  may,  you  will  protect 
him  for  my  sake." 

The  Indian  regarded  his  companion  with  emotion,  and  he 
promised  all  she  asked. 

Squaws  have  riot  often  an  influence  of  this  character  over 


Hunter  Birty.  187 

the  warriors,  in  whose  wigwams  they  dwell ;  but  Martha 
Clinker  had  been  reared  under  influences  differing  widely 
from  those  which  had  surrounded  the  youth  of  her  female  com 
panions,  and  he  who  had  her  love  was  no  common  Indian. 

His  fellow-warriors  often  amused  themselves  by  laughing 
with  each  other  about  his  being  the  squaw,  and  Martha  the 
warrior ;  but  no  one  who  valued  his  life  was  rash  enough  to 
utter  such  a  taunt  in  his  hearing. 

According  to  appointment,  Birty,  who  had  been  in  Clark's 
employ  during  the  day,  stood  on  the  bank  of  the  creek  oppo 
site  the  Indian  camp,  as  soon  as  the  stars  were  mirrored  in  its 
waters.  He  had  no  sooner  given  the  concerted  signal  than 
a  canoe  shot  out  from  the  opposite  bank,  and  it  was  but  a 
few  minutes  before  he  met  Martha  at  the  water's  edge,  where 
she  waited.  She  was  much  agitated,  and  told  him  she  could 
remain  but  a  moment. 

They  talked  together  rapidly  not  over  five  minutes,  when 
Birty  suddenly  took  leave  of  her,  and  walked  briskly  back 
to  Colonel  Clark's  quarters,  avoiding  the  camp  of  a  party  of 
Indians  from  various  tribes,  who  had  pitched  their  tents 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  fort,  on  the  same  side  of  the 
creek.  Those  Indians  had  manifested  great  friendliness  to 
the  whites,  but  had  been  regarded  by  Clark  with  consider 
able  suspicion. 

The  Colonel  was  absent,  and  Birty  could  not  see  him.  He 
would  confide  his  business  to  no  one,  and  he  wandered  again 
away  from  the  fort.  He  walked  toward  the  camp  of  tho 
suspicious  Indians,  and  watched  their  movements  narrowly. 
Midnight  came,  and  still  Birty  watched  ;  but  the  noon  of 
night  had  scarcely  passed,  when  he  saw  a  number  of  war 
riors  in  complete  battle  array,  sneak  out  of  their  camp,  and 


i88  Hunter  Birty. 

march  toward  the  creek.  He  followed  them  stealthily. 
They  waded  into  the  creek,  and  were  soon  on  its  opposite 
bank,  out  of  his  sight ;  then  he  turned  his  footsteps  toward 
the  fort  again.  He  knew  Clinker  was  on  guard  that  night. 
He  sought  him  and  said : 

"  Now,  old  chap,  afore  long  you'll  have  a  lot  of  darned 
red  skins  what'll  try  to  get  under  your  protection,  and  ef 
you  let  'em,  there'll  be  a  tarnel  fuss  in  this  ere  camp." 

"  Jist  you  trust  old  Clinker,"  was  the  answer.  "  I'll  give 
'em  my  protection  —  that's  it,"  stamping  his  rifle  on  the 
ground. 

Birty  went  with  Clinker  to  warn  other  soldiers  on  guard, 
and  while  he  talked  with  one  of  them,  several  guns  were 
fired  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  creek,  and  Birty  cried : 

"Now  watch  'em,  boys." 

It  was  but  a  few  moments  before  a  number  of  Indians 
rushed  toward  the  American  quarters ;  and  when  they  ap 
proached  the  guard,  demanded  protection,  alleging  that  they 
had  been  fired  upon  in  their  camp,  by  the  Indians  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  creek.  They  attempted  to  press  within 
the  American  lines,  but  were  repulsed  and  obliged  to  return 
to  their  own  quarters.  They  had  scarcely  gone  when  Birty 
hastened  to  Clark's  room,  and  found  him,  even  at  that  late 
hour,  at  his  desk,  writing.  The  hunter  was  excited,  and  he 
proceeded  to  announce  the  object  of  his  untimely  haste  with 
out  ceremony. 

"  There's  treachery  stirrin'  out  here,  Colonel,"  he  said. 
"  You  know  them  tarnal  suspicious  red  devils  down  here  on 
our  side  o'  the  creek  ?  A  lot  of  'em  laid  a  plan  to  get  your 
head,  Tbut  they  wasn't  quite  smart  enough." 

"  Where  are  the  treacherous  villains?"  interrupted  Clark. 


Hunter  Birty.  189 

"  The  guard  druv  'em  home,"  replied  Birty.  "  I  can  find 
every  rascal  of  'em." 

It  was  no  time  for  compliments.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
whole  garrison  was  aroused,  and  Birty  headed  a  company 
which  hastened  to  the  Indian  quarters  and  arrested  the  in 
dividuals  he  designated.  When  brought  into  Clark's  pres 
ence,  they  stoutly  denied  the  charges  made  against  them, 
but  Birty  said : 

"  Look  at  the  red  liars'  leggins  and  moccasins — that'll  tell 
the  story." 

Examination  was  made  as  the  hunter  desired,  and  the  lie 
that  the  assassins  had  been  fired  at  by  friendly  Indians,  put 
at  rest. 

Clark  was  determined  that  the  traitors  should  be  made  an 
example  of.  He  ordered  them  to  be  loaded  with  chains  and 
closely  guarded  until  the  following  day.  The  Colonel  did 
not  dismiss  his  followers  that  night  until  he  had  said  to  Birty : 

"  Your  services  in  detecting  this  plot  shall  not  be  forgot 
ten." 

Birty  owed  his  good  fortune  entirely  to  Martha.  She  had 
told  him  that  among  the  Indians  on  the  bank  of  the  river, 
near  the  fort,  was  one  who  was  like  a  brother  to  the  White 
Eagle.  He  had  made  her  husband  a  visit  that  day,  and  she 
had  overheard  him  reveal  a  plot  to  kill  Colonel  Clark,  and 
murder  his  garrison.  This  plot,  whose  fulfillment  Birty  had 
witnessed  as  far  as  the  savages  were  permitted  to  carry  it, 
Martha  minutely  detailed,  and  to  acquaint  Colonel  Clark  of 
the  threatened  danger,  Birty  had  visited  his  quarters  early 
in  the  evening,  as  described. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE  COUNCIL. 

THE  Indians  who  had  been  detected  in  their  base  con 
spiracy,  were  known  as  Meadow  Indians.  Their  tribe,  as 
before  remarked,  was  composed  of  stragglers  from  various 
tribes,  so  that  they  had  friends  among  all  the  savages  assem 
bled  at  Kaskaskia ;  and  their  arrest  created  a  great  excite 
ment,  yet  none  dared  to  question  the  propriety  of  Clark's 
conduct  toward  them. 

In  order  to  show  the  amity  existing  between  the  Americans 
and  the  French,  Clark  let  it  be  understood  that  the  latter 
should  decide  the  fate  of  the  would-be  assassins. 

On  the  day  following  their  arrest,  they  were  brought  into 
the  council-room,  but  were  not  allowed  to  speak  until  all  other 
business  had  been  transacted ;  then  Clark  ordered  their 
manacles  to  be  removed,  and  when  they  were  free,  he  said 
to  them: 

"  Everybody  says  you  ought  to  die  for  your  treacherous 
attempt  upon  my  life  during  the  sacred  deliberations  of  the 
council,  and  I  had  determined  that  death  should  be  inflicted 
upon  you.  You  must  know  that  you  have  justly  forfeited 
your  lives,  but  on  considering  the  meanness  of  watching  a 
bear  and  catching  him  asleep,  I  have  found  that  you  are  not 

(190) 


Hunter  Birty.  191 

vrarriors.  You  are  like  old  women,  and  are  too  mean  to  be 
killed  by  the  Big  Knife.  But  you  must  be  punished  for 
putting  on  breech-cloths  like  men ;  they  shall  be  taken  away 
from  you.  I  will  give  you  plenty  of  provisions  for  your 
journey  home,  because  women  don't  know  how  to  hunt,  and 
while  you  stay,  you  shall  be  treated  as  squaws  in  every  re 
spect." 

When  Clark  had  concluded  this  speech,  he  began  to  con 
verse  with  persons  around  him,  as  if  there  was  no  further 
business  for  the  council.  The  offending  Indians  were  much 
agitated.  The  treatment  they  had  received  was  very  differ 
ent  from  what  they  had  been  led  to  expect,  and  their  natural 
pride  was  deeply  wounded. 

One  of  their  chiefs  arose  and  made  a  speech,  offering 
Clark  a  pipe  and  a  belt  of  peace.  Clark  would  not  allow 
the  speech  to  be  interpreted,  and  taking  up  a  sword  lying  on 
his  table,  he  broke  the  offering  of  peace  indignantly,  saying: 

"  Big  Knife  never  treats  with  women." 

Chiefs  of  other  tribes  now  interfered  in  behalf  of  the 
Meadow  Indians,  and  among  those  who  spoke  was  one  whom 
Birty  watched  with  intense  interest.  He  supposed  him  to  be 
White  Eagle.  This  Indian  said  : 

"  The  Big  Knife  knows  that  these  men  have  wives  and 
papooses ;  for  their  sakes  he  will  grant  them  peace." 

But  the  American  officer  was  not  ready  to  acquit  the  of 
fenders  so  easily,  and  he  said  : 

"  The  Big  Knife  never  made  war  upon  these  Indians. 
Whenever  we  come  across  such  people  in  the  woods,  we  shoot 
them  as  we  do  wolves,  to  keep  them  from  eating  deer." 

The  excitement  was  intense  among  the  Indians.  They 
conversed  among  each  other,  and  among  their  friends,  in  a 


192  Hunter  Birty. 

manner  which  showed  that  they  felt  keenly  the  contempt  with 
which  they  had  been  treated.  The  Meadow  Indians  appear 
ed  to  feel  that  the  tomahawk  threatened  their  whole  tribe, 
and  peace  with  the  Big  Knife  could  alone  save  them.  Sud 
denly  two  young  men  advanced  from  the  crowd,  and  to  the 
astonishment  of  the  whole  assembly,  sat  down  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor,  throwing  their  blankets  over  their  heads,  in  to 
ken  of  entire  submission. 

Birty  watched  the  Indian  whom  he  supposed  to  be  White 
Eagle,  and  saw  that  he  appeared  deeply  interested  in  the 
youngest  of  the  warriors  upon  the  floor.  The  hunter  judged 
that  he  was  the  Indian  from  whom  Martha  learned  what  she 
had  communicated.  Birty  became  as  intensely  interested  in 
the  scene,  as  he  would  have  done  had  he  known  the  search 
of  his  life  was  to  be  ended — the  solemn  vow  he  made  to  his 
father  fulfilled.  He  could  not  satisfy  himself  why  this  feeling 
was  fastened  upon  him,  and  he  was  unable  to  shake  it  off. 
He  was  struck  with  the  nobleness  of  the  Indians  who  had 
offered  themselves  as  a  sacrifice  for  peace  with  their  tribe. 
He  knew  they  had  taken  no  part  in  the  attempted  as 
sassination.  He  stood  near  Clark — he  stepped  nearer  and 
whispered : 

"  Give  'em  a  fair  chance,  Colonel,  for  my  sake.  Them 
chaps  was'nt  in  the  scrape  ;  one  of  'em's  the  fellow  who  told 
the  trick,  so  I  got  wind  of  it." 

The  Colonel  turned  toward  Birty  and  smiled,  but  said 
nothing.  At  this  moment  two  chiefs  arose,  and  one  said : 

"  The  warriors  you  call  squaws,  have  families — these 
young  men  have  none.  They  give  their  lives  for  the  sake 
of  those  families,  to  atone  for  the  offense  of  their  brothers. 
Is  the  Big  Knife  satisfied  ?" 


Hunter  Birty.  193 

Again  the  pipe  of  peace  was  offered.  Clark  was  embar 
rassed,  lie  had  intended  to  give  the  offenders  their  liberty, 
but  in  a  manner  and  with  a  reluctance  that  should  enhance 
its  value,  and  have  an  influence  upon  all  the  Indians  who 
heard  the  circumstances.  For  a  few  moments  all  was  silence 
in  the  council — suspense  and  anxiety  held  many  of  the  spec 
tators  breathless.  The  noble  youths  sat  more  unconcerned, 
apparently,  than  those  who  contemplated  them,  only  occa 
sionally  looking  out  from  under  their  blankets  to  see  what  was 
passing  around  them. 

Clark  regarded  them  with  emotion,  evident  to  all  who 
understood  his  character.  At  length  he  advanced  toward 
them,  ordered  them  to  arise  and  uncover  themselves.  They 
stood  before  him,  expecting  to  receive  their  sentence  of  death, 
while  the  assembly  of  Indians,  French  and  Americans,  listen 
ed  with  deep  anxiety  to  see  what  the  Colonel  would  order  to 
be  done  with  them.  Birty  was  puzzled ;  he  did  not  believe 
Clark  would  sacrifice  the  noble  young  warriors,  but  was  at  a 
loss  to  conjecture  what  would  be  their  fate.  Clark  summon 
ed  him  as  an  interpreter,  and  said : 

"  The  Big  Knife  rejoices  to  find  that  there  are  men  in  all 
nations.  These  two  young  warriors  who  have  offered  them 
selves,  are  at  least  proof  for  their  tribe.  Such  warriors  are 
alone  fit  to  be  chiefs.  With  such  Big  Knife  will  treat. 
Through  them  police  is  granted  to  the  tribe,  and  I  take  them 
by  the  hand  as  chiefs." 

He  took  the  warriors  by  the  hand,  and  when  Birty  had  inter 
preted  his  speech,  the  young  warriors  were  introduced  with 
proper  ceremonies,  as  chiefs,  to  the  whites  present  and  the 
other  Indians  ;  the  result  of  the  council  was  communicated 
13 


194  Hunter  Btrty. 

from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  whoops  and  yells  of  the  liveliest 
character  resounded  about  the  fort. 

A  council  was  now  held,  peace  was  formally  granted  to  the 
Meadow  Indians,  and  presents  bestowed  upon  them  to  dis 
tribute  among  their  friends.  Birty  rejoiced  to  see  the  In 
dian  he  judged  to  be  the  White  Eagle,  and  the  youngest  of 
the  recently  created  chiefs,  meet  with  a  cordiality  that  be 
tokened  deep  sympathy  between  them.  lie  was  about  to 
step  forward  and  address  them,  and  make  himself  known  to 
him  whom  he  supposed  to  be  the  lord  of  Martha's  wigwam, 
when  he  felt  some  one  pull  his  coat.  He  turned  and  saw 
beside  him  an  old  and  wretched  looking  squaw,  who  beckon 
ed  him  to  follow  her.  He  instinctively  granted  her  wish,  and 
she  led  him  out  of  the  fort,  when,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  she 
said,  in  the  Indian  tongue  : 

"You  pale  face?" 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  for  ?  "  said  Birty. 

"  You  pale  face  ?  "  was  the  squaw's  only  reply. 

"My  mother  was  an  Indian,"  answered  Birty,  for  he  was 
never  ashamed  of  his  descent,  but  was  at  first  reluctant  to 
tell  the  squaw,  because  he  doubted  her  right  to  question  him. 
She  was  peremptory,  however,  and  having  no  fears,  he  yield 
ed,  as  the  best  way  to  escape  from  her. 

"You  ever  live  among  Indians  ?  "  she  said. 

"  When  I  was  a  little  boy,"  he  answerect 

"  You  run  away  ?  " 

"I  did." 

"  One  big  Indian  take  you  to  hunt  with  him, — you  never 
came  back  ?  " 

"  That's  the  fact — how  do  you  know  ?"  said  Birty  in  some 
surprise. 


Hunter  Birty. 

"  You  are  my  boy — my  boy,"  answered  the  squaw,  as  she 
attempted  to  embrace  him;  but  he  stepped  back  and  de 
manded, 

••  What  do  you  mean? — I  don't  know  you." 

"  I  was  your  mother's  friend — you  live  in  my  wigwam. 
Warrior  went  to  find  you — killed  your  father  and  brought  your 
mother  home — warrior  never  came  back — other  warriors  say 
your  father  killed  him.  Your  mother  killed  too.  Warriors  say 
all  killed.  You  know  this  ?  " 

"  You  speak  of  the  murder  of  my  father  and  my  mother 
— I  do  not  remember  you.  How  do  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  White  squaw  yonder  tell  me  you  are  not  Indian,"  (point 
ing  toward  the  camp  of  the  White  Eagle ;)  "  I  ask  her  who 
you  are — she  told  me  I  know7  you — your  mother  my  friend." 

"  Then  you  know  that  white  squaw's  husband — you  know 
whether  he  is  an  Indian  ? — tell  me  if  he  is,"  cried  Birty. 

At  that  moment  a  crowd  of  Indians  rushed  from  the  fort. 
They  pressed  around  Birty  and  the  squaw.  She  was  sep 
arated  from  him,  and  when  he  looked  for  her  she  had  gone. 
Her  information  had  most  deeply  interested  him.  He  felt 
that,  through  her,  he  could  get  the  information  he  had  so  long 
sought.  He  determined  to  find  her  again  at  all  hazards. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

A  REVELATION. 

BIRTY  pursued  his  search  for  the  aged  squaw  until  night 
fall.  He  obtained  no  tidings  of  her.  He  crossed  the  creek 
and  visited  the  camp  where  he  supposed  he  should  find  Mar 
tha.  She  was  absent ;  her  companions  had  not  seen  her  that 
afternoon  :  the  White  Eagle  had  come  to  his  wigwam  expect 
ing  to  meet  her,  but  was  disappointed,  and  had  returned  to 
the  village.  Birty  had  not  seen  Clinker  during  the  day. 
He  suspected  there  was  mischief  brewing,  and  he  hurried 
back  to  the  fort.  There  he  inquired  for  Clinker,  but  could 
hear  nothing  of  his  probable  whereabouts.  He  gave  up  his 
search  for  the  squaw,  and  determined  to  find  his  friend.  He 
was  about  to  leave  the  fort,  when  he  met  the  White  Eagle. 
For  a  moment  the  Indian  and  hunter  looked  at  each  other  in 
silence.  The  Indian  was  the  first  to  speak.  He  said : 

"  My  squaw  was  this  afternoon  taken  from  my  wigwam  by 
the  Big  Knife  who  is  her  father.  She  will  not  live  with  him 
She  must  return.  You  know  where  she  is ;  tell  me,  that  I 
may  take  her  back — you  are  her  friend." 

Then  this  Indian  knew  Birty.  That  was  news  to  the  hun 
ter.  He  answered  : 

"  I  am  her  friend  ;  she  shall  return  to  your  wigwam.     I  go 

(196) 


Hunter  Birty.  197 

now  to  hunt  her  father.  There  is  an  old  squaw  in  your  camp 
who  has  secrets  she  would  tell  me.  You  saw  her  speak  to 
me  to-day.  Bring  her  to  the  fort  in  an  hour,  and  you  shall 
see  your  squaw." 

*'  She  shall  come,"  said  the  Indian,  and  he  parted  from  the 
hunter. 

Birty  now  hastened  in  pursuit  of  Clinker.  He  visited  the 
house  of  a  citizen  with  whom  he  had  formed  an  acquaintance, 
and  learned  that  Martha,  having  come  to  the  village,  had  sent 
for  her  father — that  they  had  met — and  the  old  man  had 
told  her  she  should  never  go  back  to  the  Indian's  wigwam. 
She  resisted  him,  but  in  vain.  She  secretly  sent  a  message 
to  the  White  Eagle,  and  he  was  on  his  way  to  complain  to 
Colonel  Clark  and  demand  the  release  of  his  squaw,  when  Bir 
ty  met  him.  He  preferred  Birty's  offer  to  Clark's  interference. 
Birty  was  directed  to  the  house  where  Clinker  had  Martha  a 
close  prisoner.  When  they  met  Birty  expostulated  with 
Clinker,  but  the  old  man  was  deaf  to  advice.  He  had  deter 
mined  that  his  daughter  should  not  be  among  the  savages 
another  day.  If  White  Eagle  chose  to  leave  his  tribe  and 
live  with  him,  he  could  do  so,  but  Martha  should  not  roam 
the  forest  with  him  any  longer.  She  begged  her  father  to 
go  with  her,  but  he  answered  : 

"  I'm  agin  every  one  o'  the  red  devils.  My  wife's  scalp 
hangs  in  some  o'  their  wigwams.  Who  knows  but  I  might 
sit  down  to  eat  under  it?  I'll  never  go  among  'em — you 
needn't  ask  me." 

Birty  saw  that  he  would  waste  time  to  argue  the  matter 
with  the  old  man,  and  he  knew  he  must  meet  the  Indian  at 
the  fort,  according  to  promise.  He  hastened  on  this  mis 
sion.  The  warrior  waited  for  him  with  the  squaw. 


198  Hunter  Birty. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  Birty,  "  and  you  shall  see  your 
squaw." 

White  Eagle  and  the  aged  squaw  followed  Birty.  He  led 
them  to  the  house  where  Clinker  had  Martha  a  prisoner. 
The  old  man  admitted  them  ;  and  Birty  promised  that  no  force 
should  be  used  to  wrest  his  daughter  from  him.  Happy  was 
the  meeting  between  Martha  and  the  warricr.  Clinker  was 
touched  by  it,  and  he  regarded  the  finely  formed,  noble  look 
ing  Indian  with  deep  interest,  when  he  seated  himself  upon 
the  floor  beside  his  squaw,  took  their  papoose  upon  his  knees, 
and  played  with  it  until  it  laughed  and  crowed  in  great  glee. 
This  was  a  scene  the  hunter  had  not  expected  to  see  among 
Indians,  but  as  we  have  before  said,  White  Eagle  was  no 
common  Indian. 

Birty  was  impatient  to  know  what  the  aged  squaw,  who 
claimed  to  have  been  his  mother's  friend,  had  to  say  about 
him,  and  whether  she  knew  anything  of  his  relatives  who  had 
been  lost  among  the  Indians.  He  said  to  Martha,  in  the  In 
dian  language : 

"  Did  you  tell  this  squaw  my  history  ?" 

She  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Then  Birty  said,  point 
ing  to  the  White  Eagle  : 

"  Does  he  know  who  I  am,  and  that  we  have  often  met  ?" 

Martha  answered : 

"  He  knows  that  you  are  my  friend,  but  he  does  not  know 
your  history.  The  squaw  saw  us  conversing  together.  She 
told  me  that  she  knew  you ;  and  she  told  me  of  your  captiv 
ity  among  the  Indians,  as  you  had  told  it  to  me,  but  she  warn 
ed  me  not  to  let  my  husband  know  it.  I  obeyed  her  warn 
ing,  on  the  promise  that  she  would  tell  me  all  she  knew  of 
you.  She  will  tell  you  what  that  is." 


Hunter  Birty.  199 

Birty  turned  to  the  squaw  and  begged  her  to  comply  with 
Martha's  request.  She  had  no  reluctance  about  so  doing, 
and  she  said  to  Birty,  in  the  Indian  language : 

"  You  were  taken  among  the  Indians  when  a  small  boy. 
YDU  were  stolen  by  your  mother's  brother,  and  a  warrior 
who  would  have  made  her  his  squaw,  had  not  your  father 
stolen  her.  His  brother  was  found  by  them  bound  in  the 
forest.  He  said  your  father  left  him  a  prisoner.  He  vowed 
revenge.  He  carried  you  back  to  your  father.  He  got 
your  confidence.  He  was  the  means  of  his  death  and  the 
dea.h  of  your  father,  and  your  mother,  and  I  believed  of 
you.  until  I  saw  you  speak  to  this  young  squaw  (pointing  to 
Maitha),  near  her  wigwam,  when  you  came  there  the  other 
day."  ' 

"  But  my  mother  had  other  children  among  the  Indians. 
Do  you  know  what  became  of  them  ?  "  cried  Birty,  eagerly. 
"Do they  live?" 

"  They  do,"  answered  the  aged  squaw. 

"  \7here  ?  "  said  Birty,  in  a  tone  which  fixed  the  atten 
tion  of  all  in  the  room  upon  him.  The  warrior  upon  the  floor 
was  by  ro  means  an  unconcerned  spectator  of  the  scene  be 
fore  him. 

"  There  were  two  of  those  children,"  said  the  squaw. 
"  When  the  chief  of  the  tribe  did  not  return  from  his  attempt 
to  take  you  and  your  mother  prisoners,  the  Indians  were 
dividec.  One  of  the  children  was  taken  across  the  great 
river,  for  away  into  this  forest ;  the  other  was  kept  by  a 
warrioi,  who  remained  at  the  old  hunting-grounds  of  his 
tribe.  They  never  knew  that  the  Indians  among  whom  they 
lived  W3re  not  their  parents.  They  now  believe  themselves 
warrior; ;  they  are  warriors — not  squaws." 


2oo  Hunter  Birty. 

"  I  will  find  them,"  cried  Birty,  "  unless  I  lose  my  life  in 
the  search ;  and  if  you  have  deceived  me,  your  life,  old  as 
you  are,  shall  pay  the  forfeit." 

At  these  words  the  squaw  stepped  back,  and  pointing  her 
attenuated  finger  at  Birty,  said,  in  a  shrill  voice : 

"  Look  at  that  pale-face.     You  all  know  him." 

All  eyes  were  upon  Birty,  and  all  were  anxious  that  ;he 
squaw  should  explain  why  she  wished  their  gaze  thus  fixed. 
In  a  moment  she  turned  with  a  statuesque  effect,  pointed  to 
the  warrior  upon  the  floor,  and  continued  : 

"  Look  at  that  Indian.  You  all  know  him.  See  you  not 
that  both  might  have  been  born  of  the  same  woman  ?  " 

The  suspicion  which  had  long  dwelt  in  Birty's  mind  was 
resolved  into  a  conviction,  but  for  a  moment  he  could  not 
utter  a  word.  The  Indian  started  to  his  feet  and  cried 

"  The  squaw  dare  not  lie.     Thou  art  my  brother." 

Birty  rushed  toward  the  speaker,  and  the  brothers  net  in 
an  embrace,  of  which  Martha  in  a  moment  shared ;  then 
Clinker,  who  had  regarded  the  whole  scene  in  silence,  eried  : 

"  Tarnal  good  luck,  arter  all.  There's  some  whits  blood 
in  that  fellow  my  gal's  been  mad  arter  three  or  four  years. 
I  allers  thought  'twa.s  strange  she'd  take  arter  a  wiole  Injun 
that  way." 

The  old  squaw  shouted  with  glee,  and  she  was  receiving 
the  congratulations  of  Clinker,  although  she  understcod  not 
a  word,  when  Birty  addressed  her : 

"  You  said  both  my  brothers  lived.  Tell  us  where  the 
other  is,  and  our  joy  will  be  complete." 

"  You  saw  him  to-day,"  replied  the  squaw. 

"  Is  he  among  the  Indians  who  were  at  the  fort?" 

"  He  belongs  to  the  tribe  the  Big  Knife  called  sqiaws— 


Hunter  Birty.  2O1 

but  he  was  not  one  of  the  squaws.  He  was  the  first  to  offer 
himself  as  sacrifice  to  appease  Big  Knife.  That  warrior 
knows — " 

"It  is  the  tall  chief.  "We  have  been  like  brothers  since  I 
first  knew  him.  We  will  seek  him  at  the  camp  of  the  Mead 
ows,"  said  White  Eagle. 

"No  you  won't,"  cried  Clinker.  "You  hold  on  where 
you  are,  an'  I'll  fotch  him." 

Birty,  the  long-lost  brother,  and  Martha,  sat  down  to  con 
verse  together,  and  Clinker  hastened  on  his  mission.  He 
returned  in  half  an  hour,  bringing  the  tall  chief.  He  had 
not  been  informed  of  the  joy  that  awaited  him.  He  had  fol 
lowed  Clinker  because  he  had  been  told  that  White  Eagle 
wanted  him.  When  he  entered  the  room  all  were  silent,  and 
the  aged  squaw  who  had  thus  far  controlled  the  ceremonies 
of  re-union,  met  him  and  said  : 

"  Thou  hast  been  like  the  lone  buffalo  on  the  prairie. 
Now  thou  shalfc  be  like  the  beaver  at  his  dam.  Thou  hast 
been  like  the  bird  that  has  lost  its  mate.  Thou  shalt  be  like 
that  bird  when  its  mate  is  found.  Thou  hast  believed  thy 
self  without  kindred.  Thou  hast  believed  a  lie." 

"  What  mockery  is  this  ?  "  cried  the  young  chief. 

No  one  answered  him  till  the  squaw  said : 

"  Did  I  ever  deceive  thee  ?  When  I  took  care  of  thee, 
after  thou  hadst  been  wounded  in  battle,  did  I  not  love  thee  ? 
I  tell  thee  that  thou  hast  kindred,  and  they  are  here." 

"  Where  ?  "  cried  the  warrior,  looking  about  him. 

"  Yonder,"  answered  the  squaw,  pointing  her  thin  finger 
at  Birty  and  White  Eagle. 

"  One  I  know  is  my  brother,"  replied  the  chief;  "  the 


2O2  Hunter  Birty 

other  is  a  pale-face.  He  too  is  my  brother,  but  the  same 
blood  does  not  flow  in  our  veins." 

This  remark  having  been  interpreted  by  Martha,  Clinker 
impatiently  exclaimed — 

11  If  to  be  born  of  the  same  woman  makes  you  of  the  same 
blood,  that  you  are,  or  this  old  squaw's  a  tarnal  liar." 

White  Eagle  now  stepped  forward  and  said : 

"  We  have  long  been  brothers  at  heart.  I  believe  the 
squaw,  that  we  are  brothers  in  blood.  She  was  our  mother's 
friend  ;  our  father  was  a  pale-face  ;  our  oldest  brother  here 
(pointing  to  Birty)  dwelt  among  the  pale-faces.  We  have 
dwelt  among  the  Indians.  Hereafter  we  will  live  together." 
The  tall  chief  was  satisfied ;  the  Indian  brothers  embraced, 
and  then  Birty  was  acknowledged  by  the  Meadow. 

The  squaw,  who  had  been  the  instrument  of  this  happy 
re-union  of  the  long  separated,  walked  up  to  Birty  and  said : 

"  Thy  mother's  friend  has  no  wigwam.  She  was  once  a 
chief's  daughter.  Now  she's  an  outcast.  Shall  she  have  a 
home  ?  " 

"  As  long  as  I  have  one,"  answered  Birty.  His  brothers 
joined  him  in  that  declaration. 

The  brothers  talked  long  and  anxiously  about  their  varied 
fortunes,  while  Martha  listened  with  thrilling  interest,  and  the 
venerable  squaw  sat  silent ;  but  often  her  care-worn  coun 
tenance  lighted  up  with  a  gleam  of  inward  satisfaction. 

Clinker  saw  her  smile  several  times,  and  he  cried : 

"  Well  may  you  grin.  You've  done  a  nice  job.  That 
you  have." 

The  squaw  heard  his  voice,  but  did  not  understand  the 
import  of  his  words ;  she  did  not  even  turn  her  eyes  toward 
him  in  reply.  It  was  all  the  same  to  Clinker  ;  he  had  not 


Hunter  Birty.  203 

seen  so  happy  an  hour  since  he  lost  his  wife  far  away  in  the 
valleys  of  Virginia  ;  and  he  shook  and  jostled  his  little  grand- 
papoose  till  the  child,  wearied  with  his  rude  caresses,  cried 
lustily  for  its  mother's  soothing  care. 

The  child's  cries,  to  soothe  which  Martha  had  taken  it, 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  whole  company,  and  an  inter 
val  of  silence  between  the  brothers  ensued.  The  aged  squaw 
started  suddenly  to  her  feet : 

"  Thou  didst  believe  my  story,"  she  cried  in  a  shrill  voice. 
The  gaze  of  all  in  the  room  was  fixed  upon  her,  but  her 
countenance  wore  an  expression  none  could  divine. 

"  Thou  hast  believed  words  as  false  as  the  warrior  tells 
the  pale  face  when  they  ask  him  for  the  hunting  grounds  of 
his  tribe,"  continued  the  squaw  in  the  same  shrill  voice, 
which  trembled  with  emotion,  while  she  returned  the  stern 
gaze  of  those  she  had  brought  together  as  brothers. 

The  Meadow  chief  advanced  toward  her  with  a  quick  step, 
and  in  a  voice  expressing  deep  passion,  cried : 

"  If  thou  art  false,  thy  serpent  tongue  shall  never  speak 
after  this  night.     I  have  loved  thee  as  if  thou  hast  been  my 
mother,  but  if  thou  hast  brought  me  here  to  deceive  me,  I ' 
will  kill  thee  as  quick  as  I  would  a  wolf  in  my  wigwam." 

The  squaw  blanched  not  before  the  stern  gaze  of  the  young 
chief,  nor  did  she  change  expression  when  Birty,  with  White 
Eagle,  came  forward  and  stood  beside  him.  Birty  was  in  a 
maze  of  doubt  and  vexation,  but  he  did  not  interfere  with  the 
examination  the  tall  chief  had  instituted.  The  squaw  an 
swered  him  who  threatened  her,  in  a  tone  and  with  a  look 
undaunted : 

"  When  didst  thou  first  know  me  ?  " 

"  Many  years  ago,  when  I  was  learning  to  be  a  warrior," 


204  Hunter  Birty. 

answered  the  Indian.  "  Thou  wast  brought  to  our  camp  by 
a  warrior,  who  said  he  found  you  wandering  in  the  woods. 
Thou  wert  kind  to  me,  and  I  loved  thee  as  a  mother,  and  then 
thou  didst  tell  me  I  was  not  -without  friends — that  I  had  two 
brothers,  and  thou  wast  acquainted  with  my  father  and  my 
mother." 

"  When  didst  thou  first  meet  me  ?"  said  the  squaw,  turn 
ing  toward  White  Eagle. 

"  Many  years  ago,  when  our  camp  was  across  the  big 
river,  thou  didst  come  there  and  beg  our  protection.  Thou 
wast  like  a  mother  to  me,  and  I  loved  thee.  One  day  when 
the  warriors  sought  thee,  thou  wast  gone.  Thou  didst  tell 
me  the  same  story  my  brother  the  Meadow  has  told." 

Then  the  squaw  said : 

"  When  I  was  gone  from  that  camp,  I  went  where  this 
warrior  dwelt,"  pointing  to  the  Meadow  chief.  "  I  had  been 
told  where  those  who  once  belonged  to  your  tribe  were,  and 
I  sought  them.  Thou  didst  not  see  me  again  until  two  moons 
ago.  When  didst  thou  first  see  me?"  turning  to  Birty. 

"  Never  till  my  coat  was  pulled  by  you  at  the  Fort,  after 
the  council  to-day,"  said  the  hunter. 

"Thou  hast  all  answered  well  but  he,"  pointing  her  thin 
finger  at  Birty.  Then  she  laid  her  hands  on  the  Indians  and 
continued : 

"  Thou  couldst  not  know  me,  but  he  might.  Thou  didst  be 
lieve  that  I  was  thy  mother's  friend.  Wilt  thou  believe  that 
I  am  thy  mother  ?  " 

"  Thou  hast  spoken  false,"  said  the  Meadow  chief.  He 
had  no  opportunity  to  finish  his  sentence. 

"  I  can  tell,"  cried  Birty,  as  he  grasped  the  squaw,  and 
tore  a  piece  of  deer  skin,  in  the  form  of  a  cape,  from  her  neck. 


Hunter  Birty.  205 

In  an  instant  he  threw  his  arras  around  the  squaw,  and 
mother  and  son  were  locked  in  an  embrace  more  ardent  than 
the  embraces  exchanged  by  those  who  had  met  as  brothers. 

"  It  is  my  mother — OUR  mother,"  cried  the  hunter  in  a 
voice  subdued  with  emotion.  "  I  thought  she  was  killed  with 
my  father,  at  our  cabin,  on  the  mountain  in  Virginia.  Now 
I  know  she  was  not.  We  are  brothers,  and  we  have  found 
our  mother." 

Confidence  was  restored.  The  squaw  was  received  in  her 
true  character,  with  demonstrations  of  joy,  which  were  not 
feigned,  but  were  from  the  heart,  for  as  a  woman,  the  broth 
ers  who  lived  among  the  Indians  had  long  loved  her. 

"  This  is  a  tarnal  queer  affair,"  cried  Clinker,  when  Birty 
had  explained  to  him  what  the  squaw  said ;  "  I'd  like  to 
know  how  it  all  happens.  This  tarnal  old  critter  tells  two 
stories.  I  don't  know  which  to  believe  yet.  I'd  like  to 
know  how  she  found  out  all  about  these  fellers,  to  know  they 
are  her  boys." 

Clinker's  curiosity  was  a  natural  one — one  which  all  the 
party  felt,  and  which  the  squaw  proceeded  to  explain.  Her 
story  was  a  long  one.  It  need  not  be  given  in  detail. 

She  related  that  on  the  night  of  the  affray  at  the  cabin  on 
the  mountain,  she  was  severely  wounded,  but  not  killed,  only 
stunned  and  weakened  by  loss  of  blood.  She  crept  to  the 
cabin  window,  and  called  her  boy,  but  in  vain ;  she  saw  that 
the  hunter's  rifle,  knife  and  tomahawk  were  taken,  and  she 
concluded  that  her  boy  had  gone  forth  with  them,  as  she 
could  not  find  his  body.  She  was  too  weak  to  leave  the  cabin 
for  several  days.  When  she  did  leave,  she  attempted  to  fol 
low  her  boy,  but  was  unable  to  do  so  for  any  distance,  and 
she  wandered  about  the  woods  until  she  fell  into  the  hands 


2o6  Hunter  Birty. 

of  a  party  of  Indians  traveling  south.  She  was  taken  into 
the  mountains  of  North  Carolina,  where  she  remained  several 
years.  Then  the  tribe  with  which  she  lived  wandered  into 
Kentucky.  She  heard  the  warriors  describe  Indians  with 
whom  they  had  a  skirmish,  when  away  from  their  camp  on  a 
certain  day.  From  the  description  she  believed  those  In 
dians  to  be  a  remnant  of  the  tribe  her  father  once  governed. 
She  fled  from  the  Indians  among  whom  she  had  lived,  and 
sought  their  enemies.  Her  conjectures  proved  correct,  and 
she  was  kindly  received.  She  kept  her  own  secrets.  She 
learned  that  the  tribe  had  been  divided.  Among  those  she 
had  found,  she  met  a  boy  whom  she  knew,  and  whom  she 
watched  with  a  mother's  care,  but  who  had  no  suspicion  why 
this  care  was  exercised  over  him.  Often  she  was  tempted 
to  reveal  herself  to  him,  but  was  restrained  from  so  doing  by 
a  previous  determination  that  she  would  never  make  herself 
known  to  one  till  she  was  satisfied  that  all  her  children  would 
never  be  brought  together.  When  she  learned  where  the 
other  portion  of  the  tribe  was  encamped,  she  sought  it;  there 
she  found  another  boy.  She  soon  adopted  him  as  her  own  ; 
and  she  longed  to  return  to  the  other,  but  she  waited  in  hope 
of  some  day  finding  the  eldest.  The  two  Indian  brothers 
had  often  met  on  hunting  expeditions,  but  the  mother  knew 
this  not.  The  youngest  boy  had  separated  from  his  tribe 
and  become  one  of  the  Meadow  Indians.  When  they  came 
to  Kaskaskia,  and  the  squaw  saw  the  two  brothers  meet  as 
acquaintances,  her  determination  to  reveal  herself  was  fixed. 
She  went  to  the  camp  of  the  White  Eagle  for  this  purpose, 
when  she  saw  Birty  conversing  with  Martha.  She  was 
struck  with  his  appearance.  She  watched  his  movements, 
and  when  her  suspicions  had  become  convictions,  she  went 


Hunter  Birty.  207 

to  Martha,  told  the  history  of  her  oldest  boy,  and  Martha 
acknowledged  that  it  corresponded  with  what  she  knew  of 
Birty.  Then  the  venerable  squaw's  plans  were  soon  laid. 
She  adopted  the  deception,  which  she  practiced,  to  bring  all 
her  children  together,  satisfy  herself  that  they  would  be  as 
brothers,  and  that  they  had  love  for  her  as  a  friend.  It  re 
quired  Indian  fortitude  of  the  most  intense  character  to 
support  this  stratagem. 

For  a  few  minutes  after  their  mother  had  finished  her  ex 
planation,  the  brothers  were  silent.  White  Eagle  caressed 
his  child,  and  as  the  Meadow  Chief  watched  him,  a  shade 
passed  over  his  countenance,  which  did  not  escape  the  notice 
of  his  brother.  He  said : 

"  Thou  art  sad,  my  brother.  Has  any  harm  befallen  thy 
betrothed  ?  " 

"  She  is  lost  to  me,"  answered  the  other.  "  She  was 
captured  many  days  ago  by  a  party  of  pale-faces,  and  she 
has  gone,  I  fear,  to  the  Great  Spirit." 

"  Where  was  she  captured  ?  "  inquired  Birty. 

"  One  who  fought  the  pale-faces,  told  me  near  the  Cahokia, 
which  flows  past  our  camp  —  between  this  and  the  great 
river." 

"  Describe  her,"  said  Birty. 

"  Her  head  hung  upon  her  breast  as  the  flower  droops  upon 
its  stem — her  hair  was  heavier  than  the  moss  which  hangs  on 
the  trees  of  the  Southern  forest  in  the  winter  season — her 
eyes  were  blacker  than  those  of  the  buffalo  in  the  heat  of 
the  chase — her  teeth  were  whiter  than  the  beaver's — and 
her  brow  was  so  fair  you  would  have  thought  her  a  pale-face. 
She  was  called  the  Silent  Maiden.  Often,  when  separated 


208  Hunter  Birty. 

from  me,  she  would,  for  many  days,  be  as  silent  as  the  sum 
mer  stream,  which  has  emptied  itself  into  the  great  river." 

At  these  words  Birty  started  to  his  feet  and  rushed  from 
the  room.  In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  returned  to 
explain  his  sudden  departure,  leading  an  Indian  maiden, 
whose  "  head  hung  upon  her  breast  as  the  flower  droops  upon 
its  stem,"  and  who  had  been  "  silent  as  the  summer  stream 
that  has  emptied  itself  into  the  great  river." 

She  uttered  a  wild  scream,  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  young 
Meadow  Chief;  then  was  Birty  conscious,  for  the  first  time, 
that  she  had  a  voice.  Wildly  fervent  was  the  embrace  with 
which  the  Silent  Maiden  and  the  tall  chief  met.  The  beau 
tiful  squaw  was  then  presented  to  her  friends. 

The  sounds  of  rude  revelry  did  not  die  out  in  Clinker's 
log  hut,  till  the  bright  stars  lost  their  lustre  in  the  spreading 
gray  of  morning. 

All  in  that  hut  were  happy,  in  a  love  deeper  than  that 
which  brother  feels  for  brother,  but  Birty.  He  had  no  be 
trothed. 

The  particular  friends  of  Clinker  and  Birty  were  early  in 
formed  of  the  re-union  of  the  long  separated  brothers,  and 
Colonel  Clark  congratulated  Birty  in  person,  for  having  been 
so  fortunate  as  to  find  his  brother  to  be  the  noble  Meadow 
Indian  ;  and  he  assured  the  hunter  that  his  words  in  behalf 
of  tho  Indians,  under  arrest,  had  weight  upon  his  mind  in 
favor  of  clemency.  As  the  romantic  meeting  of  the  three 
brothers  became  known  in  the  fort,  many  of  the  soldiers 
sought  their  society. 

The  woodsmen  of  1778,  though  chivalrous,  were  not  vers 
ed  in  those  petty  arts  devised  to  disguise  emotion,  and  make 
impulse  appear  like  settled  intention — they  were  plain,  blunt 
men,  rude  of  speech,  and  honest. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  LAST. 

THE  Indians,  assembled  at  Kaskaskia  to  bury  the  hatchet, 
and  make  treaties  with  the  Big  Knife,  began  to  depart  on 
their  autumn  hunting  excursions. 

The  three  brothers — who  were  each  called  Birty  by  the 
whites,  one,  Hunter  Birty ;  the  second,  Indian  Birty ;  and 
the  third,  Meadow  Birty — assembled  in  council  with  their 
mother,  Clinker,  Martha,  and  the  Silent  Maiden,  to  decide 
upon  their  future  course  of  life. 

Hunter  Birty  was  emphatically  opposed  to  an  identifica 
tion  with  the  Indians,  because,  he  argued,  that  there  were 
few  of  them  the  right  kind  of  people — that  the  whites  would, 
in  a  few  years,  drive  them  all  from  their  hunting  grounds — 
that  game  would  become  scarce,  and  therefore  the  plan  which 
the  brothers  should  adopt,  was  to  select  a  rich  piece  of  land, 
build  cabins  upon  it,  and  farm  and  hunt  together. 

Clinker  and  Martha  gave  this  plan  the  weight  of  their  in 
fluence,  and  finally  Indian  Birty  and  Meadow  Birty  consent 
ed  to  part  from  their  old  companions,  and  adopt  a  semi-civil 
ized  mode  of  life.  Martha  besought  Hunter  Birty  to  select 
a  companion  from  among  the  French  or  Indian  maidens  at 

14  (209) 


21O  Hunter  Birty. 

Kaskaskia,  but  he  would  not  hearken  a  moment  to  her 
counsel.  He  said : 

"  I'm  Hunter  Birty — it  don't  suit  hunters  to  have  wives 
and  papooses." 

When  the  spring  of  1779  opened,  a  colony  of  half-breed 
Indians  had  established  a  "  station  "  upon  the  borders  of  one 
of  the  richest  prairies  of  Northern  Illinois.  The  land  sub 
sequently  came  into  their  hands  lawfully,  and  for  many  years 
their  descendants  held  it. 

The  county  of  Illinois  had  been  created  by  the  Virginia 
House  of  Delegates,  and  Colonel  Clark,  having  in  a  great 
measure  accomplished  the  object  of  his  march  among  the 
British  possessions,  received  the  thanks  and  warm  eulogiums 
of  his  countrymen. 

Before  the  Colonel  left  Kaskaskia  he  bestowed  upon  Hun 
ter  Birty  a  substantial  token  of  his  regard — a  rifle,  which, 
until  the  days  of  his  death,  was  Birty's  constant  companion 
— which  was  to  him  wife  and  children.  His  father's  rifle 
was  bestowed  upon  Meadow  Birty,  and  with  the  tomahawk 
and  knife,  so  long  the  weapons  of  Hunter  Birty,  are  now 
cherished  heir-looms  among  the  decendants  of  the  Half-Breed 
Colony  of  Illinois. 


\^,W,  &  W 


Golden  Bird  of  Menominee. 


" 


GOLDEN  BIRD  OF  MENOMINEE. 


FIRST  love,  and  the  constancy  of  woman,  have  been  favor 
ite  themes  with  the  poets  and  romance-writers  of  all  ages. 
Mainly,  however,  examples,  upon  which  to  found  touching 
verses  or  eloquent  paragraphs,  have  been  taken  from  civilized 
society.  Let  me  select  one  from  rude  forest  life. 

At  the  head-waters  of  the  Red  Cedar  River,  in  the  north 
ern  part  of  Wisconsin,  is  a  beautiful  lake,  which  the  Indians 
called  Menominee.  There  often  the  white  man  went  to  join 
his  red  brethren  in  the  athletic  sports  of  the  hunting  grounds, 
or  in  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  the  fishing  party. 

One  spring-time  it  happened  that  a  young  man  wandered 
to  the  banks  of  Lake  Menominee,  and,  after  striking  his  tent 
in  the  forest,  constructed  a  raft  on  which  to  explore  the  beau 
tiful  sheet  of  water  he  had  discovered. 

At  sunset,  on  a  pleasant  evening,  he  sat  upon  the  bank  of 
Menominee,  when  a  light  foot  startled  him.  lie  arose  to  his 
feet  cautiously,  and,  looking  about  him,  perceived  an  Indian 
maiden,  who  carried  a  heavy  bark  basket,  filled  with  roots  and 
herbs  which  she  had  been  gathering.  Her  full  dark  eye 
met  that  of  the  young  hunter,  when  she  halted  a  moment, 
then  fearlessly  stepped  within  a  few  feet  of  him.  The  hunter 

(213) 


214  Golden  Bird  of   Menominee. 

had  a  handsome  face  and  a  noble  form,  and  the  maiden  gazed 
upon  him  with  mute  but  eloquent  admiration.  She  sat  down 
her  basket  and  pointed  across  the  lake.  The  hunter  under 
stood  her  gesture,  and  bowing,  showed  her  his  raft,  moored  a 
few  yards  distant.  Taking  up  her  basket,  the  maiden  pro 
ceeded  to  the  rude  vessel,  and  the  hunter  followed.  He 
knew  the  language  of  her  actions,  and  in  half  an  hour  had 
landed  her  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake.  Swinging  her 
basket  on  her  arm,  the  maiden  sprang  upon  the  shore  and  dis 
appeared  in  the  forest. 

On  the  morrow,  when  the  hunter  emerged  from  his  tent,  he 
found,  at  the  rustic  door,  an  offering  of  roots  and  fruits,  pre 
pared  as  Indian  luxuries.  He  supposed  that  they  were  left 
as  a  reward  for  his  gallantry  to  the  young  squaw,  and  when, 
during  his  hunt  in  the  forest  that  day,  he  met  a  party  of 
friendly  Indians,  he  described  to  them  the  appearance  of  the 
maiden,  and  learned  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  chief,  and 
the  most  beautiful  squaw  of  the  tribe.  She  was  known  as 
Golden  Bird. 

When  the  hunter  returned  to  his  camp,  he  found  Golden 
Bird  waiting  for  him  with  a  present  of  choice  game.  Her 
smiles  welcomed  his  appearance,  and  her  manner,  when  she 
tendered  him  the  present,  told  the  hunter  plainly,  that  the 
forest  girl  sought  him  as  a  lover  ;  but  he  remembered  one  be 
yond  the  confines  of  the  forest,  with  whom  his  troth  was 
plighted,  and,  too  honorable  to  deceive  the  trusting  maiden, 
he  endeavored  to  make  her  understand  that  he  could  not  re 
turn  her  affection.  In  the  trusting  innocence  of  her  love,  she 
mistook  this  kindness,  and  interpreted  his  attentions  as  she 
wished  him  to  interpret  the  offerings  she  had  made.  The 
forest  near  the  hunter's  tent  was  that  night  the  Golden 


Golden  Bird  of  Menominee.  215 

Bird's  chamber,  and  on  the  morrow,  while  he  roamed  near 
the  Menominee,  she  gathered  for  him  a  handful  of  pre 
cious  stones,  and  when  he  refused  them,  she  wept.  Laying 
them  at  the  door  of  his  tent,  she  wandered  into  the  woods,  dis 
consolate.  When  absent  from  him,  she  was  ever  gloomy 
and  depressed,  but  when  in  his  presence,  especially  if  he 
gave  her  the  slightest  attention,  was  as  gay  and  glad-hearted 
as  any  other  beautiful  bird  of  the  forest. 

She  abandoned  the  wigwam  of  her  fathers — refused  the 
counsel  of  her  friends — forsook  her  kindred  and  followed  the 
pale-faced  hunter.  Her  attentions  were  a  burthen  to  him, 
and  he  resolved  to  change  his  camp. 

One  day  she  was  absent  for  a  few  hours,  and  his  raft  was 
rowed  to  the  outlet  of  the  lake,  and  slowly  it  floated  down 
the  stream.  When  it  was  moored  at  night,  the  hunter  con 
gratulated  himself  that  the  Golden  Bird  had  been  eluded,  but 
to  his  great  surprise,  before  nightfall,  the  maiden  appeared 
before  him  with  an  exclamation  of  joy,  and  tendered  him  a 
bundle  of  herbs  ingeniously  arranged. 

Every  look  and  gesture  told  him  that,  with  her,  the  affair 
had  become  one  of  life  and  death  ;  that  his  smile  was,  to  her, 
heaven.  Had  not  his  heart  been  wedded  to  another,  he  could 
never  have  chosen  for  his  bride  one  of  the  rude,  untutored  chil 
dren  of  the  forest,  and  he  thought  that  if  he  could  escape  her 
attentions,  in  a  few  days  she  would  forget  him,  return  to  her 
father's  wigwam,  and  accept  the  love  of  one  of  the  braves  of 
her  tribe.  Alas,  he  knew  not  the  strength  of  Golden  Bird's 
affection.  The  bluffs  were  high  and  abrupt  along  the  river. 
She  could  not  follow  the  raft.  The  hunter  refused  to  take 
her  with  him.  Standing  upon  a  high  rock,  as  the  pale 
face,  whom  she  had  wooed,  but  who  had  rejected  her  love, 


216  Golden  Bird  of  Menominee. 

faded  from  her  view,  she  watched  his  raft  with  streaming  eye 
balls,  and  when  he  could  no  longer  be  seen,  still  she  looked ; 
and  when  the  sun  sunk  at  night  behind  the  hills  lining  the 
river,  still  Golden  Bird  gazed  intently  into  the  dim  distance  ; 
and  when,  on  the  following  morning,  light  gilded  the  tops  of 
the  rocks,  it  shown  on  her  disheveled  hair  and  disorded  robe, 
and  still  her  eyes,  spell-bound,  were  fixed  on  the  point  at  which 
the  hunter  had  disappeared  from  view. 

Three  days  afterward,  when  her  friends,  after  diligent 
search,  found  her,  she  was  leaning  against  a  shelving  rock,  and 
her  gaze  was  yet  on  the  stream  which  had  borne  away  the 
object  of  her  devotion.  An  Indian  lover  was  there,  and  he 
sought  to  recall  her  attention,  but  she  heard  not  the  tones  of 
a  voice  with  which  she  had  been  familiar  from  childhood. 
When  they  bore  her  away  tenderly  from  the  spot  where  she 
had  the  last  view  of  the  hunter,  her  eyes  closed  in  despair. 
She  was  too  weak  to  tell  them  her  heart  had  gone  after  the 
pale-face,  and  her  spirit  would  soon  roam  in  the  hunting 
grounds  to  which  the  spirits  of  the  brave  warriors  of  the  tribe 
had  departed ;  but  they  saw  that  her  life  was  fast  fading,  and 
they  watched  with  her,  in  the  depths  of  the  forest,  until  it 
went  out.  Her  spirit  withdrew  from  the  body  as  peacefully 
as  dies  out  the  day  on  a  calm  summer  evening. 

No  tales  of  the  times  of  chivalry — no  romances  of  heroic 
deeds  in  Oriental  lands,  portray  constancy  purer  than  that  of 
this  Indian  maiden — ill-fated  Golden  Bird  of  Menominee. 


THE 


Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga, 


A  BUCKEYE  ROMANCE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   STORY   OPENS. 

THROUGH  northern  Ohio,  toward  Lake  Erie,  flows  a  wind 
ing  stream,  which  the  Indians  named  Cuyahoga — or  crooked 
water.  It  is  the  principal  river  of  several  counties  which 
lie  in  what  is  now  known  as  the  Western  Reserve,  but  which 
in  the  early  history  of  the  West  was  called  New  Connect 
icut,  comprising  a  large  tract  of  land  ceded  by  the  General 
Government  to  the  State  of  Connecticut.  It  was  settled 
mainly  by  active,  enterprising  Yankees,  who,  if  they  were 
not  as  laborious  farmers  as  the  Pennsylvania  emigrants,  had 
generally  more  intelligence  and  public  spirit,  erected  more 
tasteful  dwellings,  gave  more  skillful  attention  to  mechanics, 
constructed  better  roads,  and  more  rapidly  developed  what 
ever  mineral  resources  were  hidden  beneath  the  soil  on  which 
their  clearings  were  made. 

A  little  settlement,  began  at  the  mouth  of  the  Cuyahoga, 
increased  rapidly  in  importance,  and  to  its  vicinity  immi 
grants  were  attracted.  Following,  back  into  the  forest,  the 
winding  course  of  the  stream,  they  made  settlements  along 
its  banks,  and  in  a  few  years  the  town,  situated  where  the 
civer  cast  itself  into  the  Lake,  became  a  port  of  considera 
ble  commerce.  It  is  now  a  principal  city  of  the  West.  It 

(219) 


22O        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

bears  tne  name  of  the  first  official  surveyor  of  the  Reserve. 
The  country  is  rolling,  and  the  Cuyahoga,  winding  around  hills 
and  through  ravines,  tumbles  over  many  little  cascades  of 
romantic  as  well  as  practical  interest.  Yankee  ingenuity 
very  soon  discovered  this  practical  interest,  and  turned  it  to 
good  account.  Mills  and  factories  were  erected,  and  little 
villages  sprang  up  around  them. 

Enterprise  had  so  far  developed  and  enriched  the  region 
round  about  the  Cuyahoga,  that  a  canal  was  required  to  con 
vey  its  productions  to  the  Lake  shore,  and  this  canal  had 
been  several  years  a  source  of  convenience  and  profit,  when 
a  young  man,  fresh  from  the  city  of  Boston,  made  himself 
known  in  a  village  situated  at  the  principal  falls  of  the  river. 
He  engaged  workmen  for  the  construction  of  a  cottage  in 
the  place  of  a  rude  cabin,  belonging  to  a  farm  which  stretched 
away  from  the  river  at  one  of  its  most  romantic  points. 

A  village — especially  in  a  new  country — is  the  center,  if 
not  of  universal  sympathy,  of  universal  curiosity.  There 
was  something  more  than  curiosity  —  there  was  anxiety  to 
know  all  about  the  proprietor  of  the  new  cottage.  Was  it 
for  his  father  ? — was  he  an  agent  for  some  western  capital 
ist  ? — was  he  about  to  be,  or  had  he  just  been  married  ?  He 
was  rather  young  for  the  last  conjecture  to  gain  credence,  be 
cause  no  one  supposed  him  to  be  more  than  twenty  years  old. 
Gossip  was  confounded.  The  young  man  was  discreet.  lie 
kept  his  own  secrets.  Even  the  landlord  of  the  village  inn, 
with  whom  he  boarded,  could  only  tell  that  he  was  from  Bos 
ton — that  is,  could  only  tell  so  much  about  him  in  connection 
with  his  business  designs ;  but  of  the  young  man,  individually, 
he  knew  something  more.  He  knew  that  he  was  a  sharp 
enemy  of 'such  practices  as  were  common  in  his  bar-room. 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        221 

The  rubicund  boniface  had  been  cut  to  the  quick  of  anger, 
if  not  repentance,  on  several  occasions,  by  pictures  which  his 
young  guest  had  drawn  of  the  results  of  the  drinking  cus 
toms  he  encouraged.  Two  or  three  times  the  Bostonian  had 
held  discussions  with  the  frequenters  of  the  bar-room,  and 
he  had  not  made  friends  .by  the  faithful  expositions  he  gave 
of  the  bondage  which  drew  them  to  the  tavern,  morning,  noon 
and  night. 

Gossip  concentrates  at  a  village  tavern.  While  one  set  of 
1nfluences  gravitates  always  toward  the  church,  another  just 
as  surely  gravitates  toward  the  tavern.  During  the  hour  be 
tween  service,  on  several  Sabbaths,  there  was  gossip  concern 
ing  the  cottage-builder,  in  the  village  churchyard.  He  had 
sat  one  morning  in  the  deacon's  pew — that  was  the  only  time 
he  had  been  seen  at  church.  It  must  be  confessed  that  he 
had  then  given  marked  attentions  to  the  pastor's  discourse, 
but  why  did  he  not  come  again  ?  Why  ?  Nobody  had  ever 
heard  him  swear ;  he  was  upright,  even  liberal  in  his  deal 
ings.  Why  ?  The  same  question  was  put  often  at  the  tav 
ern.  The  landlord  said  he  was  "  more  agin  drinkin',  and  more 
like  a  Christian,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  than  many  of  them 
that  went  to  church  regularly,  but  then  it  was  queer,  and  for 
his  part  he  didn't  like  the  fellow  anyhow.  He'd  nothing  par 
ticular  agin  him,  but  it  was  queer." 

What  was  queer,  the  landlord  did  not  definitely  explain, 
but  the  expression  was  taken  up  by  several  of  the  faithful 
subjects  of  his  dominion,  and  it  became  public  opinion  that 
about  the  new  cottage  some  remarkable  mystery  hung. 

Meantime  the  cottage  was  finished,  and  in  a  few  days  it 
was  furnished  with  rich,  antique  furniture,  which  had  been 
sent  from  Boston  to  one  of  the  village  warehouses. 


222        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

The  tavern  commanded  a  view  of  the  canal.  The  men 
who  had  come  there  to  get  their  drinks,  before  engaging  in 
the  occupations  of  the  day,  saw  the  young  man,  who  had  for 
a  number  of  weeks  been  the  subject  of  their  gossip,  go  one 
Monday  morning  directly  from  the  bar-room  porch  to  a 
packet,  on  which  was  a  sign-board,  spying  "  FOR  CLEVELAND." 

Here  was  additional  subject-matter  for  gossip.  Whither 
could  he  be  going,  and  what  for?  The  most  satisfactory 
conjecture  was,  naturally  enough,  that  he  must  Jae  on  an 
errand  for  the  family  that  would  occupy  Brome  Cottage — 
that  was  the  name  he  had  given  it :  therefore  during  his  ab 
sence  tongues  were  not  idle  concerning  it  and  its  mystery. 

It  was  a  handsome  cottage,  handsomely  situated.  It  com 
manded  a  view  of  rough  water  and  rougher  rocks — of  over 
hanging  trees,  which,  gnarled  and  scraggy,  grew  out  from  the 
steep  craggy  banks  of  the  river ;  and  it  commanded  also  a 
wide  view  of  fair  fields  and  deep  woods — woods  for  miles  un 
broken — fields  blackened  with  many  large  stumps,  but  lying 
beautifully,  and  to  the  farmer  possessing  rich  promise. 

In  all  its  parts  the  cottage  was  not  completed ;  the  design, 
drafted  evidently  by  an  experienced  architect,  was  not  fully 
carried  out,  and  except  that  some  forest  trees  had  been 
removed  and  others  left,  in  fulfillment  of  a  purpose  which 
contemplated  surrounding  adornment,  there  had  yet  been  no 
attempt  made  to  lay  out  a  yard  or  a  garden. 

On  the  Saturday  morning  succeeding  young  Brome's  de 
parture  on  the  canal-boat,  there  was  bustle  and  activity  at 
the  cottage.  The  villagers  soon  learned  that  it  was  occupied 
by  an  elderly  lady  and  two  young  persons.  One  of  these 
was  the  youth  with  whom  they  had  become  somewhat  ac 
quainted,  and  the  other  was  his  sister.  So  much  mystery 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        223 

was  unraveled.  But  what  was  the  family,  and  where  did  it 
come  from,  and  what  would  it  do  ?  It  was  not  poor;  it  was 
respectable,  but  not  very  rich.  There  village  gossip  could 
safely  go,  but  it  could  go  no  farther  without  launching  into 
boundless  speculation — fathomless  conjecture. 

Martha  Brome,  the  mother  of  Harry  and  Alice  Brome, 
was  a  widow  lady,  who  had  spent  the  hopeful  period  of  her 
life  in  the  city  of  Boston.  Her  husband  had  been  an  enter 
prising  merchant.  When  about  to  retire  from  business  with 
a  competency,  the  failure  of  several  large  houses  brought  on 
a  commercial  crisis  in  his  circle,  by  which  his  prospects  of 
ease  and  quiet,  in  mature  age,  were  crushed.  He  was  a 
heart-broken  as  well  as  a  fortune-broken  merchant,  and  he 
died  in  a  few  months  after  his  business  prospects  had  been 
blasted.  lie  was  not,  however,  a  bankrupt.  He  had  spec 
ulated  largely  in  western  lands,  and  when  his  affairs  were 
settled,  it  was  ascertained  that  his  wife  and  chilren  controlled 
an  excellent  young  farm,  near  an  Ohio  village,  and  that  they 
had,  besides,  several  thousand  dollars  with  which  to  improve 
their  property. 

Mrs.  Brome  was  a  "  strong-minded  woman  " — a  woman 
who  could  calmly  meet  stern  realities.  When  she  understood 
the  condition  of  her  pecuniary  affairs,  she  calculated  practi 
cally  for  herself  and  family.  She  determined  to  relinquish 
the  society  of  her  friends — sunder  the  ties  which,  throughout 
her  life,  had  been  gathering  in  the  city  of  her  birth,  and  for 
the  sake  of  her  children  emigrate  to  the  West. 

Harry  had  been  his  father's  doting  pride.  He  had  been 
liberally  educated,  and  he  was  an  upright,  thoughtful  young 
man.  His  mother  hoped  that  in  a  new  country  he  might  be 
come  a  man  of  distinction. 


224        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

Alice  was  a  slender  but  healthful  girl,  with  her  mother's 
spirit  and  pride.  Brother  and  sister  concurred  cheerfully  in 
their  mother's  plans,  and  while  the  mother  and  Alice  visited 
some  near  relatives,  Harry  was  sent  West  to  prepare  their 
farm  for  their  reception.  They  had  carefully  estimated 
their  resources,  and  what  could  be  commanded  with  them, 
and  young  Brome  was  prepared  to  make  the  most  of  the 
funds  at  his  disposal.  When  his  mother  had  closely  exam 
ined  the  result  of  his  agency,  and  the  manner  in  which  his 
trust  had  been  executed,  she  was  well  satisfied,  and  so  frank 
ly  told  him. 

Saturday  was  the  first  day  the  Brome  family  spent  at  their 
cottage,  and  consequently  Sunday  was  the  second.  The 
village  gossips  had  calculated  somewhat  on  this  Sunday. 
There  was  preaching  at  but  one  church.  Across  the  valley 
rang  the  solemn  tones  of  the  bell,  and  the  people  with  staid 
step  and  sober  mien  turned  their  faces  toward  the  spire  which 
should  lead  the  minds  of  the  devout  from  earth  heavenward ; 
but  it  must  be  confessed  that,  on  the  particular  occasion  con 
cerning  which  we  write,  many  of  the  church-goers  had  more 
curiosity  about  what  they  should  see  at  church  than  what 
they  would  hear  from  the  preacher. 

Whether  this  be  a  more  common  error  among  country  than 
among  city  people,  we  would  not  pretend  to  decide.  We  are 
writing  a  history — not  speculating  on  human  frailties  in  the 
abstract. 

But  the  Brome  family  did  not  hear  the  village  pastor's 
sermon.  Those  eyes  turned  away  from  the  preacher's  desk, 
when  steps  were  heard  in  the  aisles,  saw  only  faces  that  were 
familiar.  It  was  not  until  the  succeeding  Sabbath  that  any 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        225 

representative  of  Brome  Cottage  appeared  in  the  deacon's 
pew. 

The  Deacon  and  the  Pastor !  What  potent  names  in  the 
Yankee  village  !  Parson  Humiston  was  a  steady,  good  old 
man,  beloved  by  all  his  congregation,  and  respected  by  the 
chiefest  of  the  village  sinners.  His  sermons  were  safe  and 
solid,  if  not  eloquent ;  he  could  tell  the  children  pleasant  lit 
tle  pious  stories,  and  he  had  a  meek  and  winning  way  of  ad 
ministering  practical  counsel  and  spiritual  encouragement  to 
the  maidens,  old  or  young — to  the  mothers,  sad  or  gay — 
among  whom  he  visited.  Shakspeare  said  a  sweet,  low  voice 
is  a  beautiful  thing  in  woman ;  he  might  have  added,  a 
meek  and  winning  way  of  administering  counsel  is  a  beauti 
ful  thing  in  a  pastor. 

Deacon  Anstey  was  a  contrast  to  the  parson.  One  was  of 
ample  form,  good-natured,  genial ;  the  other  was  thin,  spare, 
hard-hearted  and  sharp.  He  was  liberal  to  the  church — 
never  anywhere  else.  In  his  business  dealings  he  was  even 
miserly  ;  but  he  was  an  enterprising  merchant,  and  controlled 
a  profitable  business.  Sometimes  there  were  bitter  stories 
told  about  him — sometimes  he  was  called  a  hypocrite — some 
times  a  sleek  scoundrel ;  but  he  was  always  regular  at  church 
meetings — he  had  bought  the  only  bell  there  was  in  the  vil 
lage — he  paid  a  considerable  portion  of  the  parson's  meager 
salary,  and,  by  hook  and  by  crook,  he  was  a  deacon. 

Harry  Brome  had  carried  a  letter  of  introduction  from  a 
Boston  merchant  to  Deacon  Anstey,  and  the  deacon  had  been 
quite  civil  to  him  ;  but  Harry  was  not  attracted  by  his  sharp, 
thin  voice,  to  seek  frequent  consultation,  and  between  him 
and  this  important  personage  the  coldness  and  reserve  of  a 
first  acquaintance  had  not  been  broken,  up  to  the  period 
15 


226        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

when,  with  his  mother  and  sister,  he  was,  from  the  deacon's 
pew,  the  chief  attraction  in  Parson  Humiston's  congrega 
tion,  on  the  second  Sabbath  after  their  arrival  at  Cuyahoga 
village.  The  week  which  ended  with  the  coming  in  of  this 
Sabbath  had  witnessed  only  one  event  which  demands  record 
in  this  history.  Harry  Brome  had  registered  his  name  in  the 
office  of  a  village  lawyer  as  a  student  at  law. 

During  a  "quarterly  occasion,"  the  Methodist  minister  of 
the  circuit  made  an  effort  to  organize  a  Temperance  Society 
in  the  village,  and  Harry  assisted  him  energetically.  When 
the  preliminary  meeting  was  called  he  spoke  earnestly  and 
pointedly,  and  rather  intimated  that,  among  citizens  who 
should  be  moral  exemplars,  he  saw  need  of  temperance  re 
form.  This  was  bold  if  not  impudent  for  so  young  a  man 
and  so  new  a  citizen. 

Deacon  Anstey  was  quite  incensed.  "  The  upstart,"  he 
said,  "  a  sprig  of  the  law,  who  wants  to  make  himself  talked 
about!" 

"  Not  altogether,"  said  the  landlord,  who  knew  Harry ; 
"  I  reckon  he's  pretty  strong  temperance,  'cause  he  used  to 
lecture  the  fellows  at  my  house,  but  then  I  agree  with  you, 
Deacon,  it's  rather  sassy." 

So  the  gossip  ran.  The  temperance  enterprise  signally 
failed,  and  young  Brome  came  out  of  the  contest  with  a  few 
warm  friends,  but  many  bitter  enemies.  He  was  impetuous 
and  by  no  means  conciliating,  and  when  he  had  opportunity 
criticised  opponents,  on  whatever  question  of  which  he  had 
the  better  side,  with  unrelenting  severity,  pursuing,  with 
caustic  irony,  any  advantage  he  might  gain. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  PLOT  OPENS. 

"  HARRY  BROME,  ATTORNEY  AND  COUNSELOR  AT  LAW." 
These  words,  plainly  painted  upon  the  window  shutter  of  a 
small  office,  toTd  a  story  in  which  the  occupant  of  that  office 
had  a  life-interest.  Some  of  his  enemies  had  said,  "  What 
does  he  try  to  domineer  over  a  hired  man  for  on  his  mother's 
farm — why  don't  he  go  to  work  himself?"  but  Harry  had 
studiously  pursued  his  own  and  his  mother's  purpose,  during 
two  years,  and  had  been  admitted  to  the  bar,  with  warm  com 
mendations  from  the  lawyers  who  reported  to  the  court 
upon  his  fitness.  During  those  two  years  many  small 
revolutions  had  transpired  in  the  village.  From  a  number  of 
households, lights  had  gone  out  and  in  others  stars  had  risen. 
Barton,  the  landlord,  had  several  mortgages  on  property 
which  was  free  when  Harry  Brome  first  knew  its  owners ; 
the  general  business  of  the  town  had  increased,  but  Deacon 
Anstey  had  not  been  as  successful  as  in  former  years.  He 
had  reached  too  far  and  grasped  too  tightly.  He  had  found 
it  convenient  to  request  permission  to  resign  his  deaconship, 
which  permission  had  been  granted.  He  and  young  Brome 
were  no  better  friends  than  when  they  were  first  acquainted. 

Brome  Cottage  had  become  an  inviting  home.     It  was  a 

(227) 


228      The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

"  remarkable  place  "  in  the  new  country — a  place  travelers 
stopped  to  admire,  and  a  place  travelers  talked  about  when 
they  had  journeyed  far  from  it.  When  the  jessamine  and 
honeysuckle  crept  over  its  trellised  arbors,  and  vines  with 
beautiful  flowers  entwined  the  latticed  windows — when  roses 
bloomed  along  graveled  walks  that  were  shaded  by  young 
trees,  beneath  which,  in  prepared  plats,  rare  plants,  flowers 
and  shrubs  grew,  it  appeared  in  delightful  contrast  with  the 
rough  fields  and  massive  forests  by  which  it  was  environed. 

Each  morning,  when  the  birds  were  lively,  and  prodigal 
of  songs,  the  Brome  family  was  gathered  in  the  garden. 
Harry  and  Alice  industriously  assisted  their  mother  in  the 
labor  of  making  such  improvements  as  she  did  not  choose  to 
intrust  to  their  gardener.  Mrs.  Brome  was  the  same  calm 
thoughtful  woman.  In  appearance  she  had  but  slightly 
changed  during  the  two  years  of  her  western  life,  and  what 
change  could  be  observed  was  the  result  of  improved  health. 
It  was  remarked  by  a  shrewd  observer  of  human  nature  that 
"  sorrow  and  suffering  are  essential  to  the  rich  development  of 
female  character."  The  trials  and  cares  which  had  been  im 
posed  upon  Mrs.  Brome  had  only  served  to  develop  a  charac 
ter  fitted  for  distinction  in  a  wide  sphere  of  action.  This 
character  was  faintly  understood  at  Cuyahoga  village. 

Mrs.  Brome  had  not  been  neighborly  according  to  the  def 
inition  her  neighbors  attached  to  this  phrase.  She  had 
never  given  a  party.  Parson  Humiston  had  been  with  his 
daughter  to  take  tea  at  the  cottage  many  times,  and  he 
always  spoke  highly  of  Mrs.  Brome,  of  Harry  and  Alice. 
A  few  of  his  parishoners  could  not  understand  why  he  was 
so  favorably  inclined  toward  a  family  which  did  not  regularly 
sit  under  his  preaching.  Very  rarely  did  Mrs.  Brome  attend 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.       229 

his  church,  and  Harry  and  Alice  were  oftener  students 
of  nature  in  some  quiet  glen  or  shady  nook,  or  of  books  at 
home,  than  of  the  pastor  and  his  people  at  church.  Besides 
Parson  Humiston  and  his  daughter,  there  were  a  few  persons 
in  the  village  who  appreciated  the  Brome  family ;  and  though 
they  thought  Harry  a  little  harsh  in  his  opinions,  arid  some 
what  indiscreet  in  the  sternness  of  his  disputes  with  those 
whom  he  considered  vulgar  or  hypocritical,  though  they 
deemed  Alice  quite  too  retired  in  her  taste  and  manners, 
they  were  satisfied  that  Mrs.  Brome  understood  her  duties  and 
obligations,  and  would  not  fail  to  lead  her  children  aright. 
Napoleon,  with  profound  conviction,  said — "The  fate  of  a 
child  is  always  the  work  of  a  mother."  Mrs.  Brome  was 
assiduous  in  her  care  and  thoughtful  in  her  instructions,  and 
she  indulged  visions  of  bright  promise  for  her  children.  It 
is  for  this  history  to  tell  whether  she  experienced  that 

"  there  is  nothing  upon  earth 


More  miserable  than  she  that  has  a  son 
And  sees  him  err." 

Northern  Ohio  was  "  flooded "  with  counterfeit  money. 
Much  of  the  "  spurious  currency  "  was  so  faithfully  executed 
that  the  best  judges  were  often  deceived.  It  was  a  common 
rumor  that  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Cuyahoga  village, 
was  the  head-quarters  of  the  counterfeiters  ;  and  it  was  whis 
pered  that  persons  of  honorable  standing  before  the  commu 
nity  had  secret  cognizance  of  the  counterfeiters  and  their 
haunts.  Where  these  rumors  originated  no  person  could  tell. 
The  village  landlord,  who  was  supposed  to  occupy  the  chief 
post  among  newsmongers,  was  often  interrogated  concerning 
them,  and  he  invariably  answered : 

"  It's  a  tarnal  lie,  the  whole  of  it.     Nobody  who  knows 


230      The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

anything  would  suppose  that,  if  counterfeiters  were  in  this 
region,  they'd  be  peddling  their  trash  about  here  thick  as 
huckleberries.  Them  fellows  is  sharp.  They  don't  sell  their 
wares  where  they  make  'em." 

There  was  some  philosophy  in  Barton's  opinion,  but  in 
spite  of  it,  the  suspicion  that  the  counterfeiters  were  hidden 
in  or  near  Cuyahoga  village,  acquired  force  and  currency. 
Frequently  men  of  undoubted  honesty  found  themselves  in 
possession  of  considerable  sums  of  money,  which  better 
judges  than  they  pronounced  counterfeit.  They  could  not 
always  remember  from  whom  it  was  received,  and  there  was 
general  complaint  of  swindling,  and  business  confidence  was 
much  disturbed.  Harry  Brome,  on  several  occasions,  was 
victimized,  and,  once  or  twice,  under  such  circumstances  as 
gave  his  prejudiced  enemies  opportunity  to  mutter  indefinite 
whispers  and  make  mysterious  allusions. 

He  one  day  pursued  a  man  named  Sandys,  who  had  given 
him  several  bills,  which  a  friend  pronounced  counterfeit;  when 
he  found  him,  he  talked  hastily  and  bitterly  about  the  cir 
culation  of  such  stuff.  High  words  had  passed  between  them, 
when  Brome  said : 

"  This  is  the  second  time  that  I  have  had  bad  money  from 
you.  You  are  either  a  very  poor  judge,  or  you  don't  care 
whether  I  am  cheated  or  not." 

"  And  s'pose  I  don't,"  answered  Sandys,  coolly,  "  what'll 
you  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  do.  If  I  could  prove  that  you 
gave  this  to  me  knowingly,  I'd  send  you  to  the  penitentiary, 
where  there  are  many  men  who  have  done  less  harm  in  tho 
world  than  you." 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.       231 

Sandys  was  a  grocer  and  liquor  merchant,  and  there  had 
never  been  cordiality  between  him  and  Brome. 

"  You  talk'  well,"  retorted  Sandys,  "  but  pre-haps  we'd 
be  in  company.  Some  folks  is  a  little  suspicious  that  you 
know  how  to  get  rags  with  picters  on  'em." 

"  What,  Sir,"  demanded  Harry,  "  do  you  mean  to  insin 
uate  that  I  have  ever  dealt  in  counterfeit  money  ?  " 

"  Insinuate,"  said  Sandys  with  a  cold  sneer,  "  I  don't 
know  what  that  is." 

"  Well,  Sir,  I'll  make  you  know,  if  you  dare  to  hint  a  sus 
picion  that  I  have  any  knowledge  of  the  counterfeiters 
which  would  implicate  me  in  their  rascality.  I  believe  that 
some  of  them  are  not  far  from  this  spot.  I  only  wish  I  could 
get  a  clue  to  them.  This  place  would  soon  .be  too  hot  for 
them  or  any  of  their  accomplices." 

This  threat  was  uttered  in  a  manner  which  impressed 
Sandys  that  it  was  aimed  at  him.  He  stepped  toward  young 
Brome  with  a-'clenched  fist,  muttering  an  oath  between  his 
teeth,  when  a  stranger  addressed  them  : 

"  I  wish  the  direction  to  Brome  Cottage,  and  would  be 
obliged  to  either  of  you  gentlemen  for  it,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Here's  a  puppy  can  take  you  there,"  cried  Sandys,  turn 
ing  on  his  heel,  and  leaving  young  Brome  to  explain  the  cir 
cumstances  under  which  he  was  found. 

Harry  at  once  recognized  the  stranger  as  the  son  of  a  mer 
chant  in  Boston,  with  whom  his  father  had  been  associated 
ciated  in  business. 

"  You  do  not  know  me  ?  "  said  Harry  ;  "  country  air  has 
improved  my  complexion." 

"  I  did  not,  but  now  I  do  know  my  old  friend  and  school- 


232       The  Counterfeiters   of  the   Cuyahoga. 

mate,"  returned  the  stranger,  extending  his  hand,  which  was 
cordially  grasped. 

Exchanging  sketches  of  adventure  since  they  had  been  at 
school,  the  young  men  walked  slowly  toward  Brome  Cottage. 

When  Harry  introduced  his  companion  as  Joseph  Etherege, 
of  Boston,  Mrs.  Brome  distinctly  remembered  him,  and  gave 
him  a  high-bred  but  not  cold  welcome,  which  caused  him  to 
feel  that  he  had  found  a  home. 

Etherege  had  known  Alice  Brome  only  as  a  giddy  school 
girl.  He  was  delighted  to  meet  her  a  young  woman  of  edu 
cation  and  spirit,  delicate,  butnot  fragile,  polite,  but  not  affec 
ted.  Alice  was  not  beautiful  in  that  sense  which  requires 
symmetry  of  features,  but  she  had  an  expressive  countenance 
and  a  graceful  form  ;  her  mother's  fair  complexion  and  deep 
blue  eyes,  with  the  same  winning  grace  of  manner,  the  same 
dignified  repose  in  her  deportment. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE  COUNTERFEITERS  DISCOVERED . 

HARRY  BROME  was  a  capital  sportsman.  He  knew  well 
every  glen  and  dell  and  vale  in  which  game  was  abundant, 
within  a  circuit  of  many  miles  around  his  mother's  cottage  ; 
and  he  could  tell  where  an  experienced  fisherman  was  cer 
tain,  if  "  the  sign  was  right,"  to  take  from  the  river  a  string 
of  choice  fish.  Etherege  was  as  fond  of  forest  sports  as 
Harry,  and  he  had  been  a  guest  at  Brome  Cottage  but  a  few 
days  when  he  could  describe  all  of  Harry's  favorite  haunts. 
The  places  of  romantic  interest  along  the  river  having  been 
visited,  the  deepest  woods  and  wildest  ravines  having  been 
explored,  Harry  determined  to  interest  his  companion  in 
geological  speculations  concerning  a  cave  which  he  had  dis 
covered,  on  one  of  his  hunting  expeditions.  It  was  near  the 
opening  of  a  deep  ravine,  in  an  unfrequented  forest,  which 
crowned  a  range  of  low  hills  along  the  river,  about  three 
miles  belo\v  the  village. 

It  was  a  pleasant  autumn  afternoon  when  the  young  friends 
set  out  on  their  expedition.  There  was  promise  of  good 
shooting,  and  each  had  his  gun.  They  had  no  sooner  entered 
the  forest  than  they  became  more  interested  in  the  pursuit 
of  game  than  in  geological  investigations  or  speculations, 

(233) 


234       The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

and  they  were  led  away  from  the  path  Brome  had  designed 
to  follow.  In  endeavoring  to  retrace  his  steps  he  tempora 
rily  lost  his  reckoning,  and  Ethercge  joked  him  about  being 
bewildered. 

"  Here's  a  faint  trail,  suppose  we  try  that  ?  "  said  Eth- 
erege. 

"  I  have  no  objection,"  answered  Harry,  "  because  we 
cannot  be  very  far  out  of  the  way,  and  have  time  enough  to 
get  home  before  dark,  if  we  take  another  day  for  the  cave." 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  we'll  be  compelled  to  take  another 
day.  Your  luck  is  bad  to-day.  I've  got  more  game  than 
you  have,  and  you  are  lost." 

u  Of  course  you,  know  the  way,"  returned  Harry,  laugh 
ing,  "  lead  on." 

Etherege  walked  on  briskly,  and  Harry  followed.  They 
had  only  proceeded  a  few  steps  when  a  squirrel  ran  across 
their  path,  a  few  rods  in  front  of  them.  Etherege  gave  him 
chase,  and  Harry  watched  the  race.  The  nimble  creature 
did  not  take  to  a  tree,  as  the  sportsman  had  expected,  and 
Etherege  continued  to  pursue  it.  Harry  now  joined  him, 
and  both  exerted  themselves  to  get  a  shot.  They  were  dis 
appointed.  The  game  escaped ;  and  when  they  gave  up  the 
chase,  they  found  themselves  on  the  brink  of  a  ravine  which 
Harry  declared  to  be  that  in  which  the  cave  he  sought  was 
to  be  found. 

"  But  we'll  not  explore  it  to-day,"  he  said;  "  we'll  not  lose 
ourselves  another  time,  and  shall  not  waste  the  day  chasing 
squirrels  which  we  cannot  shoot." 

u  That's  very  cool,"  returned  Etherege  ;  "  but  now  if  you'll 
kill  that  woodpecker,  getting  his  supper  out  of  the  top  branch 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.       235 

of  yon  old  tree  across  the  ravine,  I'll  say  no  more  about  your 
bewilderment." 

"  Protection  from  your  wit  is  easily  purchased,"  cried 
Harry;  "  here  goes." 

He  raised  his  gun  to  his  shoulder  and  was  about  to  dis 
charge  it,  when  suddenly  he  rested  the  barrel  across  his  left 
arm  and  listened. 

"  What's  up  ?  "  asked  Etherege. 

"  Ilish  !  "  answered  Harry. 

Watchfully  and  noislessly  he  moved  a  few  steps  along  the 
brow  of  the  ravine,  then  stopped  and  listened  again :  then 
he  proceeded  a  few  rods  farther,  when  he  turned  and  beck 
oned  Etherege  toward  him,  who  came  forward  as  cautiously 
as  his  companion. 

"  You  know,  Joseph,  I  told  you  about  the  counterfeit  money 
in  this  country  and  my  suspicions,  on  the  day  you  inquired 
for  our  cottage  in  the  village.  Well,  I  have  often  met  sus 
picious  fellows  in  these  woods.  Just  as  I  was  going  to  shoot, 
I  heard  my  name  mentioned  down  here  in  the  ravine  by  a 
voice  I  believe  I  know,  and  it  belongs  to  a  man  who  bears 
me  no  good  will.  Now  I'm  going  to  see  what  he's  .doing." 

Harry  crept  forward,  and  Etherege  followed  him.  Pres 
ently  Harry  stopped  where  the  bank  of  the  ravine  was  pre 
cipitous,  and  swinging  himself  around  an  overhanging  tree, 
he  gazed  intently  into  the  hollow  below  him. 

"By  Jupiter!  the  game's  up,"  he  whispered,  turning  to 
Etherege.  "  This  is  a  capital  day's  shooting.  Look  yon 
der." 

Etherege  looked  as  directed,  and  saw  three  men  sitting 
under  a  tree,  apparently  intently  occupied  in  a  game  of 
euchre. 


236       The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

"  They're  playing  euchre,"  he  said,  "  and  it  don't  strike 
me  that  the  game  is  up." 

"  I'll  show  you  what  kind  of  euchre  it  is,"  answered  Harry ; 
"  coine  this  way — I  am  going  to  euchre  them." 

Harry  crept  to  a  point  where  he  could  closely  observe  the 
persons  he  had  discovered,  then  he  said  to  Etherege : 

"  One  is  Tom  Darwin,  a  noted  scoundrel,  the  other  is 
Deacon  Anstey,  and  the  other  is  that  man  Sandys  with  whom 
I  had  the  dispute,  on  the  day  you  came  to  Cuyahoga.  As 
sure  as  fate  they  have  a  lot  of  '  coney '  between  them." 

"  And  what  is  '  coney'  ?  "  whispered  Etherege. 

"That's  the  counterfeiters'  technical  name  for  spurious 
notes.  These  scoundrels  are  preparing  to  circulate  a  'batch' 
of  them.  I  see  through  the  scheme.  Sandys  and  Anstey 
provide  the  money,  and  employ  Darwin  to  put  it  off.  If  I 
don't  get  them  in  limbo,  my  name's  not  Brome,"  said  Harry 
•with  energy. 

"  Hark !  "  said  Etherege. 

The  friends  listened,  and,  from  the  conversation  of  the 
counterfeiters,  learned  that  Sandys  was  telling  them  about 
his  dispute  at  the  village  with  Harry. 

"  We  must  look  out  for  that  fellow,"  said  Anstey.  "  He 
and  I  have  always  been  enemies.  I  tried  to  conciliate  him 
when  he  first  came  to  the  village,  but  he  scorned  my  advances, 
and  I've  hated  him  ever  since." 

"  He's  got  grit,"  said  Sandys,  "  and  if  he  could  get  a 
clue  to  our  operations  he'd  never  sleep  till  he  tracked  us. 
We've  got  to  watch  him,  now,  I  tell  you." 

"  Gammon,"  said  Darwin  in  his  coarse  rough  way;  "you 
fellers  never  will  get  along,  if  you're  afraid  of  a  sassy  little 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        237 

Yankee  lawyer.  You  keep  your  eyes  open  and  prehaps  we 
can  get  him  in  a  scrape." 

The  counterfeiters  now  conversed  in  so  low  a  tone  that 
Brome  and  Etherege  could  not  understand  them. 

Harry  had  seen  enough,  and  he  told  Etherege  that  it  was 
time  to  proceed  homeward.  In  retracing  their  steps,  the 
young  men  were  not  so  cautious  as  they  had  been  when  seek 
ing  the  counterfeiters,  arid  when  they  were  passing  an  open 
spot  on  the  brow  of  the  ravine,  Torn  Darwin  caught  a  glimpse 
of  them. 

';  The  devil  and  his  imps,"  cried  he ;  "  by  the  Lord 
Harry,  yonder  is  that  infernal  Yankee  lawyer  now  !  " 

"  He's  seen  us — he's  followed  us,"  cried  Anstey,  quaking, 
"  and  you've  made  a  pretty  muss  of  it  by  getting  in  this 
place,  Tom." 

"  Yrou're  an  old  woman  if  you  were  a  deacon  once,"  an 
swered  Tom,  angrily  ;  "  if  I  can  run  my  risk  I  guess  you  call 
your'n,  and  you'll  have  to,  that's  all,  Deacon  Anstey." 

"  Never  mind,  Tom,"  said  Sandys,  who  was  more  collected 
than  Anstey.  u  It's  all  right.  It's  not  likely  them  fellows 
saw  us,  but  we  must  find  out  whether  they  did  or  not,  and 
you  and  I  can  do  that." 

"  Suppose  they  did  see  us  and  know  we  had  '  coney '  here 
to-day,  what's  to  be  done  then?"  inquired  Anstey,  not  yet 
assured  that  he  was  safe. 

"  We'll  have  to  leave  this  country  sudden,  that's  all," 
answered  Sandys. 

"  Not  as  you  knows  on,"  said  Tom  Darwin,  impudently. 

"  What  then,  Tom  ?  "  asked  Sandys. 

"  We'll  put  the  sneakin'  spies  out  of  the  way  first,"  an 
swered  Darwin,  between  his  teeth. 


238        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

Neither  Sandys  nor  Anstey  made  any  reply  to  this  threat. 
It  was  more  than  they  were  prepared  for,  but  what  they 
could  or  would  do,  were  it  certain  that  young  Brome  had  dis 
covered  them,  neither  could  answer. 

The  business  of  the  "council"  in  the  forest  having  been 
transacted,  the  counterfeiters  separated  and  proceeded  to  the 
village  in  different  directions,  where  they  assembled  another 
"  council "  to  decide  what  was  to  be  done  in  the  event  that 
Harry  Brome  should  take  any  step  which  indicated  that  he 
had  clue  to  their  rascality. 

Meantime  Harry  and  Etherege  had  safely  reached  home, 
unconscious  that  they  had  been  seen  by  the  counterfeiters. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CONSPIRACY    DEVELOPED. 

JOSEPH  ETHEREGE  was  a  fortune-hunter.  He  had  re 
ceived  a  liberal  education  ;  he  had  traveled  in  Europe — and 
this  at  the  period  of  which  we  write,  was  an  important  fact 
in  the  education  of  a  young  gentleman ;  he  had  graduated 
from  a  medical  school  of  high  standing,  and  with  money 
enough  to  purchase  a  large  tract  of  land  in  a  new  country, 
he  had  emigrated  westward  for  the  purpose  of  "  locating." 
Harry  Brome  was  quite  anxious  that  Etherege  should  "settle 
down  "  at  Cuyahoga  village,  but  the  young  doctor  would  make 
him  no  definite  promise.  Whenever  he  talked  of  visiting 
other  counties  or  towns  in  the  State,  Brome  was  eloquent  on 
the  prospects  of  the  Cuyahoga  valley,  and  Etherege  hesi 
tated  to  take  leave  of  his  good  friends  at  Brome  Cottage. 
Perhaps  one  reason  why  he  hesitated  was,  because  he  began 
to  have  an  interest  in  the  Brome  family  ;  an  interest  more 
enlivening  than  the  sports  of  the  field,  and  quite  as  engross 
ing  as  money-making — indeed,  it  was  embraced  in  the  plan 
of  "  fortune-hunting  "  which  the  young  man  had  arranged. 

Walks  and  drives,  readings  and  talkings,  in  and  around 
Brome  Cottage,  were  not  altogether  objectless,  and  their  ob 
ject  was  something  more  than  time-killing. 

(239) 


240        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

Alice  Brome  was  a  charming  girl ;  fitted  especially  was 
she  to  charm  an  enterprising,  enthusiastic  young  man,  who, 
resolved  upon  an  earnest  effort  in  a  new  country  to  become  a 
citizen  of  influence  and  usefulness,  wished  a  helpmate  com 
petent  to  understand  his  strivings,  and  appreciate  the  spirit 
which  animated  them. 

Alice  was  one  evening  reading  a  new  novel,  when  she 
threw  it  aside  with  a  slight  scornfulness  in  her  manner. 
Etherege  took  it  up  and  discovered  that  she  had  been  perus 
ing  a  scene  between  lovers  who  were  lack-a-daisically  tender 
— whose  love  was  of  the  whimpering,  lachrymose  character 
— which  is  an  emotion  of  "  fancy  " — a  victim  of  whim  and 
caprice — the  love  which  animates  flirts,  male  or  female — 
which  finds  wedlock  irksome,  and  which  deliberately  souring, 
for  the  sake  of  appearances,  expresses  itself  in  "  my  dear," 
but  never  sings : 

"  Home,  sweet  home.     Be  it  ever  so  humble. 

There's  no  place  like  Home." 

• 

Etherege  could  have  no  other  opinion  than  that  Alice  was  a 
worshiper  of  the  sensible  and  the  truthful.  He  was  pleased 
with  her  quiet,  dignified  expression  of  contempt  for  such  sil 
ly  "  scenes  "  as  the  novel  depicted.  He  did  not  then  reveal 
the  satisfaction  he  enjoyed,  but  determined,  on  the  first  fitting 
occasion,  to  suggest  the  "  scene  "  to  the  remembrance  of 
Alice. 

One  morning  she  invited  him  to  go  with  her  into  the  garden 
and  assist  in  the  care  of  some  flowers,  which  needed  protec 
tion  from  the  winds  of  early  autumn,  that  had  already  tipped 
with  yellow  the  leaves  of  the  maple  trees  in  the  forest. 

Etherege  watched  for  an  opportunity  to  recall  to  Alice's 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        241 

mind  the  sentiment  the  novel  which  he  had  seen  her  read 
awakened,  without  arousing  a  suspicion  that  he  had  divined 
the  cause  of  the  scorn  with  which  she  had  thrown  the  book 
aside. 

"  It  is  quite  natural,"  said  he,  "  to  associate  summer  flow 
ers,  which  the  frosts  of  winter  kill,  with  the  friendship  good 
fortune  attracts,  but  which  bad  luck  drives  away.  I  am  not 
surprised  that  many  poets  and  many  romancers  have  per 
plexed  their  wits  to  find  a  new  expression  for  the  thought." 

"  But  after  all,  Mr.  Etherege,"  said  Alice,  "  it  is  hardly 
fair  to  the  flowers.  They  are  not  false.  They  leave  no  du 
ties  undischarged.  They  bloom  and  are  beautiful  for  us  until 
their  allotted  time  to  die." 

"A  beautiful  defense,"  exclaimed  Etherege  ;  "  I  judge 
from  it  that  you  have  less  even  than  the  usual  slender  confi 
dence  in  friendships  which  are  made  when  the  sun  of  fortune 
is  warm." 

"  We  may  find  good  and  true  friends,  Mr.  Etherege,  in 
the  height  of  prosperity,  but  we  cannot  always  tell  on  whom 
we  may  rely  till  misfortune  reverses  our  obligations,  and 
makes  them  valuable  to  us.  But  I  am  talking  what  is  very 
commonplace,  and  you  cannot  be  interested." 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken.  I  think  your  words  have 
meanings  which  do  not  at  first  appear  in  them,  and  I  am 
interested  to  know  whether  your  thoughts  are  not  led  away 
from  common  friendships,  to  obligations  and  relations  dearer 
and  more  important." 

"  You  are  not  gallant,  Mr.  Etherege,  to  give  my  words 

meanings  of  your  own,  and  then  ask  confession  of  me  ;  but 

I  am  not  reluctant  to  tell  you  that  I  have  been  thinking  of  a 

book  I  read  not  long  ago,  in  which  "  real  life  "  was  depicted 

16 


242        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

as  the  silly  pastime  of  coquetting  boys  and  girls.  Holding 
marriage  to  be  a  solemn  and  thoughtful  step,  I  was  indignant 
that  such  books  should  be  popular,  among  women  who  are 
expected  to  teach  children  what  is  expected  of  them,  and 
what  they  may  well  accomplish  in  the  world." 

"  You  are  quite  utilitarian,"  said  Etherege,  designing  to 
elicit  further  expressions  of  the  train  of  thought  in  which 
Alice  had  fallen,  but  she  answered  him  : 

4 

"  Only  a  little  practical,  as  my  mother  says,  Mr.  Ether 
ege.  But  here  comes  Harry ;  I  will  appeal  to  him." 

"And  why  appeal  ?  "  said  Etherege,  smiling.  "  I  have 
not  disputed  you."  Alice  looked  a  mischievous  response, 
but  spoke  none ;  for  Harry,  swinging  his  gun  with  one  hand 
and  grasping  Etherege  with  the  other,  said : 

"  Come,  I  have  harnessed  the  horse  for  a  ride.  A  gen 
tleman  at  the  village  yesterday  described  to  me  a  desirable 
tract  of  land  which  is  for  sale  on  reasonable  terms,  and  I 
propose  that  we  take  a  look  at  it.  If  it  is  what  he  repre 
sented  it  to  be,  there  is  a  speculation  in  it." 

"  There  will  be  no  harm  in  taking  a  look  at  it,"  answered 
Etherege,  "  and  I  am  at  your  service." 

"  The  ride  at  all  events  will  be  pleasant,"  said  Harry, 
u  and  as  on  our  return  home  we  ma_y  drive  near  that  cave, 
above  the  falls'  in  our  river,  which  we  did  not  visit  the  other 
day,  we  may  derive  pleasure  as  well  as  profit  from  the  trip." 

Harry  led  his' friend  from  the  garden,  and  placing  his  rifla 
in  a  safe  place  beneath  the  wagon  seat,  said  : 

"  We  may  meet  some  adventure  that  will  require  it.  I 
always  take  it  along." 

"  Perhaps  you'll  come  across  the  counterfeiters  again," 
returned  Etherege. 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  (Juyahoga.        243 

"  I  should  not  probably  have  occasion  to  shoot  one  of  them 
if  I  did,  but  when  we  get  into  the  woods,  if  we  can  do  noth 
ing  more,  I'll  beat  you  shooting  at  a  mark  so  handsomely, 
that  you  will  never  dare  to  say  another  word  about  my  hav 
ing  been  lost." 

"  I  take  the  banter,"  said  Etherege. 

The  property  Brome  designed  to  visit  was  situated  about 
ten  miles  from  Cuyahoga  village.  When  the  friends  had 
talked  with  its  owner,  learned  the  price  and  terms  of  sale, 
and  had  acquainted  themselves  with  the  character  of  the 
soil  and  other  advantages  possessed  by  the  farm,  Etherege 
was  well  pleased,  and,  somewhat  influenced  perhaps  by  the 
conversation  of  the  morning,  determined  to  make  an  invest 
ment.  He  told  the  farmer  that  Mr.  Brome  was  his  banker, 
and  that  if  he  would  meet  him  in  the  village  on  the  follow 
ing  Saturday,  he  would  receive  a  deed  for  the  property  and 
make  the  required  payment. 

"  The  business  of  our  ride  is  over;  now  for  the  pleasure," 
said  Harry. 

'•  It  is  afternoon,  you  observe,"  returned  Etherge,  "  and 
if  we  visit  the  cave  you  must  drive  briskly." 

Harry  cracked  his  whip,  and  his  smart  horse  -whirled  the 
light  wagon  rapidly  toward  the  village.  In  half  an  hour 
Harry  checked  the  speed  of  the  animal,  and  turning  him 
from  the  main  road  into  a  dim  track  stretching  through  a 
dense  forest,  drove  slowly  and  cautiously  for  about  another 
half  hour,  and  then  reining  up,  bid  Etherege  alight. 

The  horse  was  detached  from  the  wagon  and  securely 
fastened ;  Harry  took  his  gun  from  its  resting  place,  and 
was  leading  the  way  toward  a  narrow  ridge  which  could 
be  discerned  between  the  trees,  when  Etherege  said : 


244      The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

"  If  these  woods  are  haunted  by  counterfeiters,  I  should 
be  a  little  afraid  to  leave  my  horse  in  them." 

"  Pshaw,"  returned  Harry,  "  I've  left  him  many  a  time. 
There's  more  risk  in  stealing  a  horse  than  in  making  spurious 
money,  and  the  fellows  we  saw  out  here  are  sly  rogues,  I  as 
sure  you." 

"  Do  you  suppose  they  can  have  any  suspicion  that  you 
know  their  rascality  ?  "  said  Etherege. 

"  They  know  that  I  have  been  watching  for  the  counter 
feiters,  and  that  I  would  send  them  to  the  penitentiary  if  I 
could  detect  them ;  knowing  their  own  guilt,  of  course  they 
are  a  little  afraid  of  me.  They  would  not  hesitate  to  injure 
me  if  they  could  do  so  safely  to  themselves." 

"  It  becomes  you  then  to  be  cautious." 

"  I  know  it  does ;  I  thought  of  that  when  I  brought  out 
my  rifle  to-day." 

Conversing  about  the  counterfeiters  and  what  was  to  be 
expected  and  what  feared  of  them,  the  two  friends  ap 
proached  the  high  and  rocky  "  bluffs,"  into  which  the  cave  they 
sought  opened.  They  were  in  the  vicinity  of  the  place  where 
they  had  discovered  Darwin  and  his  confederates  in  coun 
cil  during  their  previous  search  for  the  cave,  and  Brome  pro 
posed  that  Etherege  should  seat  himself  at  the  foot  of  one  of 
the  hemlock  trees  which  crowned  the  ledge  of  rocks,  while  he 
reconnoitered  the  ravine  beyond.  Etherege  was  not  sus 
picious  that  harm  would  befall  himself  or  his  companion,  and 
he  consented,  upon  condition  that  Harry  would  not  be  absent 
more  than  fifteen  minutes. 

Brome  had  not  skulked  along  the  brow  of  the  ledge  over 
hanging  the  river  more  than  five  minutes,  when  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  some  one  dodging  among  the  trees  before  him. 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.      245 

•  He  glanced  at  his  gun  as  if  to  inquire  whether  he  could  rely 
on  it,  and  followed  the  shadow  which  had  attracted  his  at 
tention.  It  led  him  down  the  ledge  and  toward  the  place 
where  his  horse  and  wagon  stood.  He  had  an  opportunity 
to  see  the  man  whom  he  followed,  but  could  not  recognize 
him.  He  thought  of  what  Etherege  had  said  about  horse- 
stealing,  and,  neglecting  his  engagement  to  return  to  his 
friend,  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  continued  the  pursuit. 
Presently  the  suspected  horse-thief  no  longer  endeavored  to 
disguise  his  progress,  but  walked  forward  boldly,  and  striking 
into  the  path  which  led  into  the  public  road,  pushed  forward 
toward  it. 

Then  Brome  regretted  his  suspicions,  and  hastened  to  re 
trace  his  footsteps.  He  walked  rapidly  to  the  brow  of  the 
ledge  and  proceeded  to  the  spot  where  he  had  taken  leave  of 
Etherege.  The  young  man  was  gone.  Brome  whistled,  and 
anxiously  expected  a  response.  None  came.  He  hallooed. 
His  voice  echoed  among  the  trees,  but  the  echoes  brought  no 
other  answer  than  their  own.  He  began  to  feel  solicitude,  if 
not  alarm.  He  closely  examined  the  ground  around  the  tree 
where  Etherege  had  sat,  to  ascertain  if  any  footsteps  were 
imprinted  on  it.  He  could  discover  none.  Then  he  looked 
along  and  down  the  ledge  for  some  trace  of  his  departure ; 
he  observed  a  handkerchief  Iving  some  distance  below  him. 

v          O 

He  hastened  to  pick  it  up.     There  were  drops  of  blood  on 
it,  and  it  belonged  to  Etherege. 

Brome's  fears  were  now  intensely  excited.  He  suspected 
that  Etherege  had  been  attacked  and  had  fled  toward  ^thc 
wagon.  He  ran  through  the  woods  with  nervous  haste,  and 
when  he  reached  his  wagon  could  discover  no  sign  of  his 
friend,  but  when  he  looked  for  his  horse,  he  saw  that  the 


246      The  Counterfeiters  of  the   Cuyahoga. 

strap,  with  which  he  was  hitched  to  a  tree,  had  been  cut. 
Between  the  tree  and  the  road  there  were  deep  hoof-marks, 
as  if  the  horse  had  been  urged  swiftly  away. 

Brome  was  in  a  maze  of  doubt  and  conjecture.  Again 
and  again  he  hallooed.  No  answer  came.  Already  the  sun 
threw  lengthened  shadows,  and,  convinced  that  Echerege  must 
have  been  pursued  by  some  foe  or  foes  and  had  fled  to  the 
horse,  cut  him  loose  and  escaped,  Brome  at  once  determined 
to  follow. 

If  his  conjectures  were  well  founded,  he  should  soon  meet 
his  friend,  with  company  returning  in  quest  of  him ;  if  not, 
he  could  alarm  the  village  and  search  for  Etherege. 

Brome  had  not  traveled  far  on  the  public  road,  when  he 
met  a  man  with  whom  he  was  acquainted.  Then  he  learned 
that  his  horse,  riderless,  had  been  seen  dashing  at  full  speed 
toward  the  village.  Harry  dare  not  idly  indulge  conjectures 
as  to  the  fate  of  his  friend,  but  he  hastened  to  the  nearest 
farm-house,  and  engaging  a  horse,  galloped  home  to  assure 
his  mother  and  sister  that  he  was  not  harmed ;  inform  them 
of  the  circumstances  of  his  friend's  disappearance,  and  make 
arrangements  for  a  thorough  search  of  the  woods  in  which 
he  had  been  lost,  Or — murdered ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  SEARCH. 

BROME  halted  at  the  cottage  door  only  long  enough  to 
inform  his  mother  and  Alice  that  Etherege  was  mysteriously 
missing.  Leaving  them  to  painful  surmise  and  perplexing 
conjecture,  he  rode  to  the  village  for  the  purpose  of  securing 
aid  for  a  thorough  search  of  the  woods  in  which  his  friend 
had  disappeared.  His  impetuosity,  his  nervous  anxiety,  de 
clared  to  the  loungers  at  the  tavern,  before  he  alighted  from 
his  horse,  that  he  had  exciting  news  to  communicate.  They 
gathered  around  him,  eagerly  repeating  to  each  other  the 
words  in  which  he  told  how  he  had  lost  Etherege. 

Concerning  what  might  have  been  the  fate  of  the  stranger 
Broine  had  conflicting  suspicions,  and  he  expressed  none  of 
them  ;  but  Barton,  the  landlord,  said  : 

"  Murdered  for  his  money — that's  what  he's  been — I'll  bet 
a  treat  for  the  town." 

"  He  had  no  money  with  him,"  answered  Brome  quickly. 

"  But  he  had  money  somewhere,  hadn't  he  ?  "  returned 
Barton, ;'  and  the  fellow  who  took  him  off  knows  how  to  get 
it.  You  must  look  out  for  him,  Mr.  Brome." 

Harry  was  about  to  reply,  when  he  saw  Sandys  walk 
(247) 


248      The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

away  from  the  tavern  steps,  muttering.  He  could  not  hear 
the  grocer's  words,  but  a  friend  of  Harry's  did. 

"  Likely  the  fellow  who  took  him  off,  does  know  where  the 
money  is,  and  if  he  don't  be  watched  it's  'cause  I'm  blind. 
It's  lucky  Barton  thought  of  that." 

While  Sandys  was  muttering  and  plotting,  Brome  had  said  : 

"  Never  mind,  Mr.  Barton,  about  speculations  now.  We 
must  scour  the  woods,  arid  I  am  here  to  raise  a  party  of  vol 
unteers." 

Sandys  heard  those  words  and  hastened  to  find  Anstey. 

When  Harry  led  a  party  of  villagers  in  quest  of  Etherege, 
the  grocer  and  the  ex-deacon  were  with  it. 

All  night  shout  answered  shout — fires  gleamed  and  torches 
flickered  in  the  woods  to  which  Brome  had  conducted  Eth 
erege.  When  the  light  of  morning  came,  and  the  fires 
and  the  torches  died  out,  hope  died  in  the  minds  of  the 
searchers,  and  they  went  home  weary  and  unhappy,  bearing 
tidings  which  increased  the  excitement  in  the  village. 

It  was  Sabbath  morning,  a  beautiful  Sabbath  morning ; 
a  purple  haze  hung  on  the  hills,  and  the  air  in  the  valleys 
was  calm,  and  sweet,  and  exhilarating.  The  Sabbath  bell  had 
a  softened  sound,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  sexton  rang  it 
slowly,  so  slowly  indeed,  that  to  many  its  notes  were  knell- 
like — to  the  family  at  Brome  Cottage  they  were  doleful. 

Parson  Humiston  had  a  thin  congregation  and  an  inattentive 
one.  In  his  last  prayer  for  the  morning  service,  he  remem 
bered  the  missing  Etherege  and  prayed  that,  in  the  provi 
dence  of  God,  he  might  safely  be  restored  to  his  sad  friends. 
The  church  attendants  remembered  the  burden  of  this  pe 
tition  more  vividly  than  they  did  the  lessons  of  the  sermon, 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.       249 

when  they  went  out  among  the  villagers  to  talk  of  the  min 
ister's  eloquence. 

In  a  new  country,  in  a  young  village,  the  people  know 
each  other  much  better  than  they  do  in  developed  towns  or 
thriving  cities.  They  have  more  interest  in  each  other's 
welfare,  and  more  sympathy  for  each  other's  misfortunes. 
A  severo  affliction  in  one  family  throws  a  pensive  influence 
into  every  other  family.  Therefore  it  was  that  the  people  of 
Cuyahoga  village  were  sympathetically  absorbed  in  emotions 
of  curiosity,  conjecture,  and  sympathy. 

At  Brome  Cottage  there  was  no  rest,  no  peace.  The 
search  of  Saturday  night  had  satisfied  Harry  Brome  that 
Etherege  could  not  be  found  in  the  woods,  and  he  was  con 
vinced  that  Tom  Darwin  was  answerable  for  his  disappear 
ance.  Upon  consultation  he  determined  to  hazard  the  arrest 
of  the  outlaw.  Having  ascertained  where  he  was  most  likely 
to  be  discovered,  Harry,  late  on  Sunday  evening,  took  the 
village  constable  into  his  buggy,  and  secretly  departed  on  the 
desperate  venture  of  arresting,  upon  vague  suspicion,  a  man 
who  was  known  to  be  bold,  reckless,  and  revengeful. 

When  Brome  and  the  constable  went  away  from  Cuya 
hoga  village  to  hunt  Darwin,  he  was  skulking  about  its  streets, 
seeking  Sandys  and  Anstey. 

In  the  rear  of  Sandys'  grocery  there  was  a  low,  dark 
room,  in  which  many  a  scene  of  villainy  had  been  planned, 
and  thither  the  outlaw  wended  his  way. 

The  grocer  was  at  home.  He  received  Darwin  with  a 
show  of  cordiality  and  gave  him  a  seat  in  the  council-room, 
then  he  went  out,  locking  the  door  and  bolting  it  on  the  out 
side,  leaving  Darwin  to  meditate  on  his  past  life — its  schemes 
of  villainy  and  its  scenes  of  cruelty,  or  to  plot  new  conspir- 


250       The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

acies.  Ho  knew  that  for  the  present  he  was  a  prisoner,  but, 
he  was  confident  that  Sandys  would  soon  return,  and  that 
with  him  would  come  Anstey  and  others  who  were  in  the 
secrets  of  the  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

The  outlaw  thought  often  of  young  Brome.  He  feared 
him  more  than  he  did  any  of  the  village  officers.  He  was 
satisfied  that  Brome  knew  him  to  be  a  "  counterfeiter,"  and 
that  he  would  arrest  him  as  soon  as  he  could  get  evidence 
enough  to  hold  him.  He  had  plotted  to  circumvent  Brome, 
but  the  plot  had  failed  of  execution,  and  now  the  outlaw 
wanted  to  report  progress  to  his  confederates  and  consult  on 
the  next  steps  to  be  taken  for  the  safety  of  the  band. 

"I '11  watch  'em  to-night,"  said  Darwin.  "I'll  let  'em 
know  it  all.  I'll  get  'em  in  the  fix.  They've  got  to  come 
in,  and  just  about  daybreak  I'll  leave  'em  in  the  lurch.  This 
town's  not  quite  the  place  for  me.  It's  a  little  too  warm 
here,  and  afore  the  folks  know  just  what  grocery-keeper 
Sandys  and  Deacon  Anstey  really  are,  I  'd  better  be  oif.  I've 
had  one  experience  in  striped  trowsers.,  and  I  wouldn't  like 
another." 

While  Darwin  thus  plotted  for  himself  and  against  others 
of  the  counterfeiters,  he  had  no  suspicion  that  Harry  Brome 
was  already  watchfully  employed  in  guarding  against  his  emi 
gration  from  the  valley  of  the  Cuyahoga,  at  least  until  they 
had  met. 

Brome,  though  confident  that  Darwin  was  responsible  for 
Etherege's  disappearance,  trusted  that  his  friend  was  not 
murdered,  and,  guarding  against  Darwin's  secret  escape,  he 
had  determined  to  confront  the.  outlaw,  tell  him  what  he 
knew  about  the  counterfeiters,  what  he  suspected  concerning 
Etherege,  and  assure  him  that  if  he  would  restore  the 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.       251 

young  man  to  his  friends,  he  should  be  permitted  to  elude  the 
clutches  of  the  law. 

The  constable  with  whom  he  searched  was  but  partially  in 
Brome's  confidence.  He  was  not  yet  certain  how  far  he 
dare  trust  him.  He  was  a  resolute  and  careful  man,  but  he 
was  neither  very  active  nor  very  shrewd. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  COUNCIL. 

DARWIN  was  walking  his  prison  when  Sandys  returned. 
The  grocer  was  accompanied  by  Anstey,  and  a  man  named 
Tickell,  whom  Darwin  had  only  met  in  council  once  before. 

The  counterfeiters  were  not  very  cordial  in  their  greetings, 
and  with  a  heavy  frown  on  his  brow,  Darwin  said : 

"  Well,  Deacon,  it's  a  little  scarey,  aint  it  ?  " 

"  That  depends  on  what  you  have  been  doing,"  returned 
Anstey. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  ?  "  angrily  cried  Darwin. 

"  Keep  quiet,  Tom,"  interposed  Sandys,  "  we  want  your 
head  cool  to-night." 

"  I  am  cool,"  said  Tom,  "  I'm  going  to  keep  cool,  and 
now  I'll  just  ask  Deacon  Anstoy,  in  a  quiet  way,  what  he 
supposes  I've  been  doin'." 

"  No  offense,  Darwin,"  said  Anstey,  with  submission,  "  but 
there's  big  excitement  in  the  village,  and  it's  a  little  suspected 
that  you  know  what  has  become  of  that  fellow,  Etherege,  the 
friend  of  that  little  devil,  Brome." 

"  I  do  know  just  that,"  answered  Darwin,  "  and  that  little 
devil  knows  too." 

"  I'm  afraid  he  does,"  said  Sandys. 

"  I  know  it,  I  tell  you.     I  saw  it  done." 

(252) 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        253 

"  Saw  what  done,  Darwin  ?  "  cried  Anstey. 

"Now,  Deacon,  you  keep  cool,"  answered  Darwin, "  and 
I'll  tell  you.  I  made  up  my  mind  about  a  week  ago  that 
them  fellows  did  see  us  iu  the  ravine,  and  that  that  sassy 
little  lawyer  was  laying  his  traps  to  catch  us.  I  didn't  say 
nothing  to  you  fellows,  but  I  determined  to  catch  him.  Do 
you  understand  that  ? — to  put  him  out  of  the  way,  Deacon 
Anstey." 

"  You'd  kill  him,  Tom  Darwin.  You  did  kill  that  Eth- 
erege.  I  wash  my  hands  of  it.  Oh  God !  I  never  thought 
of  this,"  cried  Anstey. 

"  Bah,  you  chicken  !  "  returned  Darwin.  "  Now  I  tell 
you  I  did  not  kill  him  ;  I  haven't  said  he  was  dead." 

"  Look  here,  Tom,"  said  Sandys,  who  was  fully  as  anxious 
as  Anstey,  but  had  more  prudence,  "  you're  trying  to  put  a 
riddle  on  us.  •  Talk  it  out,  arid  let  us  know  what's  up." 

"  Who's  that  fellow  ?  "  said  Darwin,  pointing  to  Tickell. 

"  He's  safe,"  answered  Sandys.     "  I'll  go  bail  for  him." 

"  If  he  leaks,"  said  Tom,  "  or  shows  signs  of  leaking,  he 
knows  where  a  ball  will  go." 

"  He  aint  afraid  of  you,  Tom  Darwin.  He  knows  you, 
and  you  ought  to  know  him.  If  you  can't  trust  him,  he'll 
go  out,"  returned  Tickell. 

"  There's  a  little  grit  in  you,"  answered  Tom, "  and  you've 
heard  too  much  to  go  now.  I'll  trust  you.  Deacon  Anstey, 
I'm  going  to  give  you  what  you  wanted  to  know  when  you 
first  came  in  here." 

Anstey  made  no  reply,  and  Darwin  continued : 

"  I  was  at  th%  cave  where  our  manufactory  is,  on  Satur 
day,  and  as  I  was  crossing  the  hill,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
sassy  lawyer  and  the  Yankee  he  takes  about  with  him.  I  took 


254        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

a  notion  to  get  our  necks  out  of  a  scrape  by  getting  the 
Yankee's  in.  I  thought  if  I  could  catch  the  lawyer,  I  might 
keep  him  safe  a  couple  of  days,  and  get  the  Yankee  sus 
pected  for  having  made  away  with  him,  or  compel  Brome  to 
hush  up  about  us." 

"  The  Lord,  Darwin,  you  have  been  playing  a  nice  game," 
sighed  Anstey,  striding  across  the  council-room. 

Darwin  looked  at  the  ex-deacon  with  a  sardonic  smile,  and 
went  on : 

"  That  plan  wouldn't  work,  because  the  lawyer  had  a 
rifle  and  the  Yankee  didn't,  and  I  was  a  calculatin'  what 
might  be  done,  when,  by  the  powers,  the  lawyer — " 

"  A  trumped-up  story,  a  trumped-up  story,"  cried  Anstey, 
taking  courage  from  the  desperate  character  of  the  trap  into 
which  he  saw  the  counterfeiters  falling.  "  You've  killed  that 
Etherege,  and  you'll  be  found  out — you'll  go  to  the  gallows, 
and  we'll  go  to  the  peni — " 

Anstey  had  not  time  to  finish  the  word ;  Darwin  sprang 
upon  him,  crying : 

"  Do  you  call  me  a  liar,  you  hypocritical  old  villain  ?  " 

A  knife  gleamed  in  the  outlaw's  hand,  and  he  might  have 
plunged  it  into  Anstey 's  breast,  but  a  quick  thought  that  such 
an  act  would  prevent  the  flight  he  had  planned,  restrained 
him.  He  hurled  Anstey  to  the  ground,  declaring  with  an 
oath, 

"  You're  too  mean  a  coward  to  strike.  You'll  go  to  the 
penitentiary  as  true  as  ever  you  were  a  deacon,  mind  that. 
I  know  what's  become  of  that  Etherege,  and  unless  something 
comes  to  that  Brome,  my  neck  goes  it  too.  But  something 
will  come  to  him.  That's  all  I've  got  to  say.  I'm  mum, 
Deacon  Anstey,  till  I  get  you  into  a  worse  scrape  than  you're 


.   The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.  255 

in  now.  But  I'll  watch  you — mind  you,  Deacon  Anstey,  I'll 
watch  you  sharp." 

Sandys  tried  all  his  arts  to  induce  Darwin  to  reveal  what 
he  knew  of  the  fate  of  Etherege,  but  the  outlaw  was  ob 
durate. 

"  I'm  going  out  of  this  hole,"  said  he,  "  and  Deacon 
Anstey  may  as  well  go  home.  It's  no  use  to  coax  me.  I 
tell  you  I  won't  say  another  word  this  night.  Let  me  alone. 
Don't  vex  me  now,  and  maybe  the  next  time  that  I  am  here 
I'll  be  talkative." 

Sandys  conducted  the  counterfeiters  into  the  street,  and 
they  separated  in  darkness,  each  plotting  to  shield  himself 
from  the  retribution  which  he  feared. 

Tickell  thanked  his  stars  that  he  had  accidently  been  ad 
mitted  to  the  council.  He  was  every  where  considered  a 
vagabond  sort  of  a  fellow,  but  he  had  once  beon  a  respect 
able  and  prosperous  citizen,  and  no  one  suspected  that  he  had 
any  part  or  lot  with  the  counterfeiters. 

He  was  the  tool,  the  slave,  the  victim  of  Barton,  the  land 
lord,  but  his  family  would  have  been  the  landlord's  victims 
more  bitterly  than  language  can  describe,  had  it  not  been 
for  many  kind  words  and  many  little  offices,  many  needful 
gifts,  which  came  to  them  from  Bromc  Cottage. 

Tickell  was  not  wholly  corrupted,  and  he  thought  he  saw 
in  Darwin's  partial  revelations  a  deep  plot  to  bring  trouble 
upon  the  Brome  family — he  reflected  on  the  kindness  of  that 
family  to  his  own,  and  he  deliberately  considered  whether  the 
counterfeiters  had  stronger  claims  upon  him  than  Harry 
Brome,  and  his  mother  and  sister.  He  might  run  perilous 
risks,  but  he  determined  to  watch  for  an  opportunity  to  be 
friend  his  benefactors. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  CONFLICT. 

THERE  were  yet  no  signs  of  dawn  when  Tom  Darwin 
skulked  away  from  Cuyahoga  village.  He  followed  the  street 
nearest  the  river  until  he  had  reached  a  bridge  which 
crossed  it,  half  a  mile  below  the  town.  Half  way  over  the 
bridge,  the  outlaw  sat  down  as  if  to  soothe  a  disturbed  spirit 
by  the  roar  of  the  waters  which  dashed  over  huge  rocks  in 
the  bed  of  the  river.  He  was  not  a  man  who  analyzed  quiet 
emotions — he  did  not  clearly  inquire  into  motives  for  actions 
•which  involved  no  apparent  danger,  but  instinctively,  no 
doubt,  chose  the  bridge  as  a  place  for  meditation,  because  he 
could  think  more  keenly  and  plan  more  sharply,  where  the  roar 
of  the  river  answered  to  the  tumult  of  conflicting  dreads,  fears 
and  resolves,  which  disturbed  his  mental  repose. 

The  banks  of  the  river  were  high  where  the  bridge  spanned 
it,  and  they  were  precipitous  and  craggy.  The  narrow  bed 
of  the  stream  was  broken  by  a  number  of  low  but  clearly 
defined  precipices,  and  the  water,  rushing  in  eddies  and 
counter-eddies  around  the  rocks  which  resisted  its  current, 
then  plunging  over  cascades,  roared  with  a  force  which  bore 
the  stunning  sound  to  a  considerable  distance  on  either  side. 

Amid  the  deafening  roar  of  the  Cuyahoga  falls,  in  the 

(256) 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.  257 

darkness  of  the  hour  which  precedes  day-break,  the  outlaw 
sought  to  reconcile  the  conflicting  fears  and  purposes  which 
influenced  him,  and  to  shape  a  satisfactory  course  of  action. 
Had  Sandys  or  Anstey  suspected  that  he  had  the  remotest 
intention  of  fleeing  from  that  part  of  the  country,  they  would 
have  taken  sure  means  to  check  him  ;  but  his  intentions  were 
known  only  to  himself,  and  he  chuckled  quietly  when  he 
thought  of  the  perplexing  rage  that  would  overcome  Deacon 
Anstey,  when  it  was  certain  that  Darwin  had  fled,  and  taken 
the  secret  of  Etherege's  disappearance  with  him. 

The  mist  which  morning  had  lifted  from  the  valleys,  upon 
the  hill-tops  began  to  assume  a  roseate  glow,  when  Darwin 
walked  rapidly  from  Cuyahoga  bridge,  and  turning  into  a 
path  that  led  down  the  bank  of  the  river,  pursued  it  a  few 
rods ;  then  crossing  a  field,  he  entered  a  strip  of  dense  woods. 
lie  did  not  follow  a  path,  but  walked  in  nearly  a  straight  line 
until  he  reached  a  natural  opening  where  a  spring  bubbled 
up,  creating  a  small  marsh,  in  which  tall  grass  grew. 

There  the  outlaw  halted,  and  after  taking  a  t;  refreshing" 
drink  from  a  pocket  cup,  in  which  there  was  a  very  little 
water,  he  gave  a  shrill  whistle.  For  a  moment  he  listened 
attentively.  His  signal  was  not  answered,  and  he  exclaimed 
with  nervous  impatience : 

"  Curse  the  fool,  I  told  him  to  be  here  at  day-break.  I'ts 
half  an  hour  after  that  time.  I'll  blow  him  up  if  he  aint 
more  prompt." 

Darwin  sat  down  on  a  log  near  the  spring,  and  taking  from 
his  pocket  a  huge  knife,  began  to  whittle  and  to  think.  He 
was  restless,  and  he  made  large  whittlings.  He  was  startled 
by  a  whistle,  which,- springing  to  his  feet,  he  answered.  Soon 
a  stout,  thick-set,  rough-looking  man  emerged  from  a  thicket 
17 


258  The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

and  approached  the  spring.  Darwin  met  him  with  the  salu 
tation,  "  Didn't  you  promise  to  be  here  as  soon  as  it  was 
light?" 

"  Yes,  and  I'd  been  here  if  it  hadn't  been  for  your  bad 
calculation.  The  nag  you  wanted  was'nt  where  you  said 
I'd  find  him,  and  I  had  to  hunt  the  critter." 

"  You  got  him  ?  "  said  Darwin. 

"  I  did  that.  He's  in  fine  order,  right  out  here  on  the 
edge  of  the  woods." 

"  We'll  go  over,  tfcen,"  said  Darwin.  "  When  did  you 
take  him?" 

"Night  before  last.  It's  safe  to  ride  him  away  from 
here  to-day,  but  maybe  it  wouldn't  be  to-morrow." 

"  I'll  look  out  for  that.  You  take  care  of  yourself  when 
I'm  gone  and  don't  git  distressed  about  my  luck.  To-night 
I'll  let  the  critter  run,  I  don't  care  a  curse  where." 

Conversing  upon  their  villainous  schemes  for  the  future, 
the  outlaws  walked  briskly  through  the  woods  until  they 
reached  the  place  where  Darwin's  companion  had  left  the 
horse  he  had  stolen. 

Darwin  untied  the  animal  and  sprang  into  the  saddle. 
He  then  gave  his  hand  to  his  fellow-outlaw  and  said : 

*•  Now,  Billy,  good-by  ;  one  week  from  to-night  we  meet, 
you  know  where.  You  go  back  to  the  village  and  lounge 
about  to-day,  and  to-night  make  tracks.  Tell  Sandys  and 
Anstey  I'll  be  at  the  grocery  about  eleven  to-night.  They'll 
wait." 

"Good-by,  Tom,"  answered  Billy  Mervin.  "You  can 
bet  on  me  for  Monday  next.  I'll  tell  the  fellows  at  the 
grocery,  and  they  will  wait,  that's  a  fact,  and  so'll  somebody 
else.  I  don't  care  for  the  grocer  nor  the  deacon.  The  devil 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.  259 

take  them.     But  otherwise,  I  'm  a  little  compunctious,  Tom. 
Sometimes  I've  a  notion  to  crack  a  pistol." 

"  Bah ! "  said  Darwin  sneeringly,   "  let  the  thing  work. 
After  we've  gone,  I  don't  care  if  the  whole  of  it  comes  out 
against  that  chicken-hearted,  hypocritical  old  deacon.     K 
that  Brome  aint  got  rid  of,  he'll  fetch  it  out.     I  must  bev 
off.     You  go  back  to  town  like  an  honest  man." 

This  conversation  had  been  held  as  Billy  Mervin  walked 
beside  Darwin's  horse,  while  he  rode  through  the  woods 
toward  the  public  road.  The  distance  was  short,  only  a  few 
yards.  They  reached  the  highway  as  Darwin  spoke.  He 
struck  his  horse  a  sharp  blow,  and  the  animal,  having  high 
mettle,  sprang  into  a  swift  gallop. 

Taking  a  farewell  look  of  Darwin  as  a  cloud  of  dust  began 
to  envelop  him  and  his  stolen  horse,  Mervin  proceeded  to 
execute  the  command  that  he  should  visit  the  village. 

It  was  rather  an  untraveled  road  along  which  Darwin 
galloped.  He  was  obliged  to  travel  for  a  few  miles  on  an 
other  one,  where  he  might  expect  to  meet  many  persona,  and 
when  he  approached  it,  he  checked  his  steed.  Though  he 
burned  with  impatience,  prudence  required  him  to  ride 
slowly.  He  was  in  sight  of  the  point  at  which  he  could  turn 
from  the  great  highway  into  a  by-road  that  led  in  the  direc 
tion  he  wished  to  pursue.  He  congratulated  himself  upon 
his  good  luck,  and  again  gave  his  horse  the  rein. 

Just  at  the  point  where  the  by-road  branched  off,  there 
was  a  turn  in  the  main  one,  and  Darwin's  eyes  were  fixed 
suspiciously  on  this  turn  as  he  neared  it.  To  his  decided 
chagrin  it  was  not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  distant  when 
a  buggy  containing  two  men  was  driven  around  it.  At  first, 
Darwin  saw  nothing  in  their  appearance  to  alarm  him,  but 


260       The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

quickly  he  recognized  Harry  Brorae  and  Constable  Sedley, 
who,  as  Darwin  was  aware,  held  the  office  of  deputy  sheriff. 

Brome's  blood  quickened  in  his  veins  as  he  recognized  the 
outlaw.  At  once  he  reined  up  his  horse  and  arose  from  his 
seat. 

Darwin's  liveliest  suspicions  were  awakened.  He  thought 
it  folly  to  turn  back — he  determined  at  all  hazards  to  ride  on. 
If  it  was  the  intention  of  Brome  to  arrest  him,  he  should 
make  the  attempt  at  desperate  risk.  Darwin  had  confidence 
in  his  horse,  and  he  would  test  his  speed  and  bottom.  He 
was  a  good  horseman,  and  could  impart  to  his  steed  something 
of  the  resolution  which,  at  any  time,  might  nerve  himself. 
Rising  in  his  stirrups,  he  applied  his  whip  vigorously.  Brome 
and  the  constable  saw  that  Darwin  would  pass  them,  and  in  all 
probability  escape,  unless  violent  measures  were  employed  to 
check  his  career.  The  constable  sprang  from  the  buggy. 
On  came  Darwin  at  breakneck  speed.  Brome  raised  his 
rifle  to  his  face,  and  the  outlaw  saw  that  he  designed  to  fire, 
but  he  did  not  heed  the  warning.  Both  Brome  and  the 
constable  cried  "stop!"  but  the  outlaw  passed  them. 

There  was  a  sharp  report — the  horse  and  its  rider  were 
prostrated  upon  the  road. 

"  You've  killed  him,"  cried  the  constable.  "  Rash,  very 
rash,  better  let  him  gone." 

"  I  shot  at  the  horse,  not  at  him,"  answered  Brome  calmly, 
"  but  I'll  take  the  consequence.  He's  not  dangerously  hurt. 
See,  he  is  getting  up." 

"  Let  us  go  to  him,"  said  the  constable. 

"  Go  on,  but  be  a  little  cautious.  He's  armed,  I'll  war 
rant  ;  I'll  have  a  bullet  in  my  rifle  before  I  approach  him." 

Brome  and  the  constable  drew  near  the  outlaw,  who  had 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.       261 

endeavored  to  rise,  but  finding  himself  unable,  leaned  upon 
his  elbow.  They  were  within  pistol  shot  when,  with  a  quick 
movement,  he  fired  at  them,  and  for  Brome  the  shot  had 
been  fatal,  but  that  the  hand  that  held  the  pistol  was  more 
unsteady  than  it  had  ever  before  been. 

"It's  no  use,  Darwin,"  said  the  constable;  "you  may 
as  well  give  up." 

"Never,  to  you,  dogs — take  that;"  with  these  defiant 
words  Darwin  fired  a  second  pistol,  but  Sedley  was  watching 
him,  and  the  bullet  missed  its  aim. 

Evidently  Darwin  was  dangerously  injured.  The  bullet 
had  struck  his  horse  in  the  shoulder,  causing  him  to  stumble, 
and  Darwin  was  thrown  forward  violently ;  his  skull  was 
fractured,  and  blood-vessels  in  his  body  had  been  ruptured. 
Blood  flowed  from  his  mouth  as  he  spoke.  He  felt  that  his 
final  hour  had  come,  and  he  said : 

"  Yes,  you,  Harry  Brome,  Esquire.  You  had  been  glad 
to  have  killed  me  outright.  You  wanted  an  excuse  to  shoot  me. 
Dead  men  tell  no  tales ;  but  I  can  talk  yet,  and  I  can  tell  it 
all,  and  I  will.  You've  been  after  me  to  make  folks  believe 
I  killed  that  young  Etherege.  You  are  a  respectable  man, 
I  am  a  counterfeiter,  but  if  I  had  strength  enough  I'd  show 
you  that  I  am  not  as  much  of  a  scoundrel  as  you  are.  Take 
that  man.  take  him,  Constable  Sedley.  I'm  a  dying  man, 
and  I  tell  you  that  he's  a  murderer.  He  killed  his  friend 
Etherege.  He  shot  him  for  his  money." 

"  Villain,  you  die  with  a  monstrous  lie  on  your  soul.  Your 
life  has  been  one  continued  crime,  and  what  can  you  expect 
to  gain  by  this  false  charge  ?  Nobody  will  believe  it,"  cried 
Brome  with  vehemence. 


262      The  Counterfeiters  of  the   Cuyahoga. 

"  Ask  Billy  Mervin — ask  Deacon  Anstey  or  grocer  San 
dys,  or—" 

"  Villains  like  yourself,"  cried  Brome. 

"  They  can  show  you  up,  though,  and  they  will.  They 
know  who's  got  that  chap's  money.  I  aint  the  first  man 
you've  shot  at,  but  maybe  I'm  the  last."  (Darwin  raised 
himself  up  as  he  spoke.)  "  I'd  be  sure  of  that  if  I  had  a 
pistol.  You'd  go  to  hell  with  me." 

Darwin  gasped  as  he  uttered  this  threat,  and  Sedley  stooped 
down  to  support  him,  but  the  outlaw  made  a  motion  as  if  to 
grasp  his  knife,  and  the  constable  allowed  him  to  fall  back 
on  the  ground.  It  was  evident  he  could  not  survive  long 
and  Sedley  wished  to  put  him  iu  Brome's  buggy  and  convey 
him  to  the  village,  but  ho  would  not  be  moved.  Brome  and 
Sedley  consulted  upon  the  course  they  should  pursue,  and 
Brome  said : 

"  You  stay  here  ;  I'll  go  to  the  village  and  get  help." 

"  No,  no,"  gasped  Darwin ;  "  don't  let  him — he'll  never 
come  back." 

Whether  influenced  by  these  words  or  not,  the  constable 
would  not  consent  that  Brome  should  depart,  and  as  Darwin 
had  grown  so  weak  he  could  no  longer  resist,  Sedley  insisted 
that  he  should  be  put  in  the  buggy.  Brome  assisted,  and  the 
outlaw  was  placed  where  he  could  be  drawn  to  the  village. 
Sedley  supported  him,  and  Brome  led  the  horse.  They  had 
not  gone  far  when  Sedley  said : 

"  It's  over ;  he's  dead." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   VILLAGE   GOSSIP. 

SLOWLY  Brome's  buggy,  bearing  the  dead  body  of  the  out 
law,  was  driven  into  the  village.  Constable  Sedley  directed 
that  it  should  stop  at  Barton's  tavern,  and  immediately  it 
was  surrounded  by  an  anxious,  gossip-loving  circle.  Each 
one  asked  many  questions,  and  then  repeated  what  had  not 
been  answered.  But  few  received  definite  information  con 
cerning  the  manner  of  Darwin's  destruction,  and  the  village 
buzzed  with  false  rumors.  The  story  most  frequently  told 
was  that  Brome  had  met  Darwin  ;  that  the  lawyer  had 
charged  Dar»vin  with  the  murder  of  Etherege  ;  that  the  out 
law  returned  the  charge,  and  swore  he  saw  Brome  kill  his 
friend ;  and  that  Brome  then  shot  him.  In  all  the  rumors, 
facts  were  distorted  to  Brome's  disadvantage,  and  it  was  the 
general  impression  that  he  had  committed  murder ;  some 
thought,  in  the  shooting  of  Darwin  ;  others,  by  destroying 
his  friend.  A  few  men  and  women  who  knew  Brome,  from  a 
proper  estimate  of  his  character,  indignantly  branded  these 
rumors  as  villanious,  but  many  were  not  at  all  surprised.  It 
was  "just  as  they  expected." 

Among  the  latter  class  was  a  prominent  member  of  Parson 

(263) 


264        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

Humiston's  church— Mrs.  Prime.  She  had  often  wondered 
that  the  Parson  went  so  often  to  Brome  Cottage,  and  came 
so  seldom  to  her  house.  She  never  missed  a  sermon — the 
Bromes  often  did  ;  she  never  disputed  about  doctrines — the 
Bromes  often  did  ;  nobody  ever  saw  her  walking  for  pleasure 
on  Sunday ;  she  didn't  even  stroll  in  the  churchyard,  nor 
would  she  allow  her  children  to  pick  flowers  there.  All  of 
the  ordinances  of  the  church  were  observed  by  her,  and  more 
too.  But  few  of  them,  according  to  her  judgment,  did  the 
Bromes  observe,  and  yet  Parson  Humiston  was  scarcely  cor 
dial  to  her,  while  he  went  every  week,  at  least  once,  to 
Brorae  Cottage.  He  didn't  preach  as  sternly  as  he  bad 
years  before,  and  he  must  be  falling  from  grace.  Oh,  it  was 
enough  to  make  any  body  fall  from  grace  to  be  often  in  that 
Brome  Cottage.  There  was  a  '•  wicked  planer" — and  there 
were  novels,  a  great  many  novels,  and  sometimes  there 
was  dancing  ;  and  some  folks  said  there  had  been  card-play 
ing  ;  and  Harry  Brome  and  Alice  Brome  went  to  meeting 
when  they  chose.  No  wonder  he  was  a  bad  fellow  !  0,  he 
had  the  worst  temper.  He  must  have,  because  his  mother 
always  had  done  just  as  wise  Solomon  said  worldly  women 
would  cfo,  "  Spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child."  No  won 
der  he  had  committed  murder.  It  was  what  Mrs  Prime  ex 
pected  ! 

A  soliloquy  of  this  character  Mrs.  Prime  indulged  in  the 
hearing  of  Mr.  P.  He  was  a  quiet  man.  His  wife  had  a 
will,  and  her  will  was  enough  for  the  whole  family,  but  some 
times  he  dared  indulge  unexpressed  opinions  ;  and  while  Mrs. 
P.  ran  on  about  the  Bromes,  he  gratified  himself  with  the 
reflection,  that  if  his  wife  was  a  little  like  Mrs.  Brome  he 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        265 

wouldn't  complain  ;  and  as  for  Harry  Brorae's  having  com 
mitted  murder,  it  was  simply  fudge. 

In  the  gratification  of  this  opinion,  the  quiet,  humble  man 
rather  forgot  himself,  and  he  concluded  his  reverie  by  delib 
erately  spitting  on  the  floor,  close  by  Mrs.  P.,  who  was  indus 
triously  knitting,  but  not  so  industriously  that  she  failed  to 
observe  the  sin  her  careless  husband  had  committed. 

"  Oh,  la  me,"  sighed  she,  "  these  men  are  all  alike. 
Now,  these  fifteen  years  I've  been  talking,  and  talking,  and 
it's  no  use." 

Perhaps  these  latter  words  were  addressed  to  Mr.  P.'s 
actions,  or  perhaps  bore  reference  to  the  lack  of  success  in 
her  talking.  At  all  events,  the  humble  man  was  exerting 
himself  to  eradicate  all  appearance  of  the  stain  he  had  made 
upon  the  home-made  carpet. 

Mrs.  Prime  (it  ought  to  have  been  Prim)  was  a  professing 
Christian,  and  she  was  precise  in  her  profession,  yet  she  was 
an  idolater.  She  had  a  household  idol,  and  incessantly  she 
worshiped  it.  Every  action,  every  movement,  was  a  devotion 
to  it,  and  it  was  an  imp.  Her  thin  form  bore  testimony  in 
each  article  of  dress,  in  every  motion,  to  the  ruling  power 
of  this  household  idol.  Poor  Mr.  P.,  how  often  he  wished 
that  his  wife  could  be  converted  from  her  idolatry.  He  would 
cheerfully  have  dispensed  with  his  dinner  every  day  for  a 
year,  could  he  by  his  own  starvation  have  exorcised  the  imp 
which  monopolized  her  affections. 

"  Every  thing  is  very  neat  about  you,"  said  an  intimate 
friend  one  day  when  Mrs.  P.  was  not  in  hearing. 

"  Oh.  Lord,  yes,"  answered  Mr.  Prime  ;  "  but  there's 
reason  in  all  things,  except  some  women,  and  my  wife's  one 
of  them.  I  like  order  and  neatness,  but  there  are  other  com- 


266       The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

forts  in  the  world  besides  order  and  neatness,  only  my  wife 
don't  know  them.  The  *  imp  of  neatness  is  her  idol.' ' 

"  Hands  off" — "  don't  put  me  out  of  place,"  could  be 
read  from  every  portion  of  Mrs.  P.'s  household  as  distinctly 
as  if  each  article  bore  a  printed  label.  The  prevailing  rule 
was  that  every  thing  was  to  be  kept  clean  and  in  order. 
There  were  few  things  for  use — ease ;  comfort  was  rarely, 
very  rarely,  calculated  upon. 

At  Brome  Cottage  order  and  system  were  observed,  but 
there  was  no  severity,  no  stiffness.  You  felt  at  home  in  its 
parlors.  When  Mrs.  P.'s  parlors  were  entered,  the  visitor 
shrank  like  one  intruding  in  a  circle  which  was  sacred  to  si 
lence  and  severity.  Mrs.  P.  never  went  to  Brome  Cottage 
but  she  said,  "  Oh,  my,  how  things  are  knocked  about  here. 
There's  no  rule  about  this  house.  It's  all  vanity." 

Therefore  it  was  to  be  expected  that  when  she  heard  the 
rumors  about  Brome  and  Darwin,  she  would  half  close  her 
cold  gray  eyes,  and  looking  down  over  her  narrow  chin,  say: 

"  Well,  well,  any  body  might  have  known  he'd  come  to  some 
bad  end." 

Thus  this  precise  woman  concluded,  from  her  own  stand 
ard,  without  evidence,  without  reflection.  The  world  is  full 
of  opinions  just  as  shrewd  ;  with  just  as  good  a  basis. 

While  Madame  Prime  was  giving  Mr.  P.  a  piece  of  her 
mind  about  a  man's  duty  in  his  own  house,  and  about  the 
wickedness  of  such  doings  as  she  knew  had  been  at  Brome 
Cottage,  Harry  was  conversing  with  his  mother  about  the 
troubles  which  thickened  around  him.  He  said  : 

"  I  am  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy,  mother,  and  it  comes 
from  a  quarter  of  which  I  had  no  suspicion  when  I  first  re 
solved  to  ferret  out  the  counterfeiters.  The  outlaws,  Darwin, 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.       267 

Anatey,  Sandys,  and  the  others,  are  but  the  servants,  the 
hired  instruments,  of  men  who  have  bigger  schemes  than  were 
ever  yet  projected  in  this  country.  I  have  only  a  hint  of 
what  they  are  at,  but  it  comes  from  a  reliable  source,  and 
soon  I  shall  know  it  all ;  that  is,  I  shall  know  it,  if  they  do 
not  triumph.  I  am  in  great  danger,  mother.  There  are 
men  against  me  who  have  influence  and  money.  They  will 
not  hesitate  to  take  all  possible  advantage  of  Darwin's  decla 
ration  against  me,  and  circumstances  will  be  brought  forward 
that  may  enable  them  to  make  out  a  plausible  case.  They 
will  have  me  arrested  if  they  can,  in  the  hope  of  keeping  me 
from  pursuing  them,  but,  should  they  even  succeed  in  get 
ting  a  verdict  against  me,  of  branding  me  as  a  murderer, 
they  shall  not  escape." 

Harry  had  never  so  fully  explained  to  his  mother  what  he 
knew  of,  and  what  he  had  to  fear  from,  the  counterfeiters. 
She  was  now  much  moved  at  the  picture  he  drew,  but  she 
had  faith  in  the  right,  and  she  said : 

"  I  must  regret  Darwin's  death,  but  I  cannot  blame  you. 
Let  your  enemies  do  what  they  may,  they  cannot  sustain  his 
charge  against  you,  and  unless  they  kill  you,  as  they  have 
poor  Etherege,  you  will  in  the  end  triumph.  I  fear  for  your 
life,  Harry." 

"  You  need  not,  mother.  The  counterfeiters  dare  not  as 
sassinate  me  now.  Such  an  act  would  ruin  their  schemes. 
But,  mother,  I  do  not  believe  they  killed  Etherege." 

"  And  who  did,  then  ?  " 

"  I  am  persuaded  that  he  was  not  killed.  I  believe  he  was 
made  a  prisoner  in  some  of  their  dens.  They  may  let  him 
starve  to  death,  but  I  do  not  think  they  have  assassinated 
him.  Against  all  appearances,  this  conviction  hangs  to  me." 


268       The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

"  May  your  conviction  prove  correct  and  may  he  be  re 
stored  to  us,"  said  Mrs.  Brome,  devoutly,  "  but  I  canWe  no 
foundation  for  such  a  hope.  He  is  murdered,  and  you  may 
t)e  arrested  as  his  murderer.  Oh,  my  God,  how  little  do  we 
know  what  grief  a  day  may  bring  forth.  It  had  been  bet 
ter,  Harry,  if  you  had  let  the  counterfeiters  alone." 

"  But,  mother,  I  could  not." 

"  No,  Harry,  you  could  not.  That  is  true.  Now,  you 
must  triumph." 

"  I  feel,  mother,  that  severe  trials  are  in  store  for  us,  but 
I  am  confident  of  triumph  in  the  last  hour,  and  perhaps  it 
will  be  shown  us  that  the  kind  offices  of  love  and  chanty  we 
have  dispensed  in  this  neighborhood  have  more  power,  when 
affliction  overtakes  us,  than  the  enmity  of  narrow  bigots  who 
envy  us,  or  the  villainy  of  scoundrels  who  fear  us.  I  know 
we  have  a  few  friends,  mother,  who  can  be  relied  upon. 
How  does  Alice  take  the  bad  news  ?  " 

"  She  is  much  distressed.  She  has  never  been  herself 
since  Etherege  disappeared  ;  and  now  she  is  inconsolable." 

"  I  will  find  her  and  cheer  her  up." 

Mrs.  Brome  went  about  her  household  duties  with  a  troub 
led  spirit,  yet  with  a  faith  whicll  enabled  her  to  appear  as  if 
no  fears  oppressed  her. 

Harry  sought  Alice.  They  had  a  long  and  earnest  con 
versation,  and  when  they  parted,  Brome  had  renewed  inter 
est  in  the  solution  of  the  mystery  which  hung  ';about  the  fate 
of  Etherege. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

COUNTERPLOTS. 

HARRY  had  determined  while  talking  with  Alice  to  go  to 
the  village,  and,  if  possible,  ascertain  the  character  of  the 
gossip  concerning  him.  He  walked  immediately  to  Barton's 
tavern.  When  he  opened  the  door,  and  allowed  a  breath  of 
fresh  air  to  disturb  the  fumes  of  whisky  and  tobacco  which 
hung  about  the  stove,  there  was  quite  a  buzz  among  the 
loungers  who  had  met  to  smoke,  drink,  and  talk  over  the 
news.  In  this  group  there  was  a  stranger,  who  took  no  part 
in  the  conversation,  and  who  neither  drank  nor  smoked.  He 
had,  however,  been  an  attentive  listener  to  the  talk  about 
Brome,  and  the  speculations  in  regard  to  Darwin's  death. 
Brome  at  once  observed  this  man.  There  was  commanding 
character  in  his  face  and  form  and  bearing.  Brome  gazed 
at  him  intently.  He  did  not  meet  the  gaze  frankly  and  bold 
ly,  and  Harry  puzzled  his  wits  to  answer  to  himself,  why.  The 
conversation  stopped.  Brome  saw  that  he  was  an  intruder, 
and,  after  exchanging  a  few  words  with  Barton,  went  out. 
The  door  had  not  entirely  closed  behind  4iim  when  the  stran 
ger  arose,  and  inquired  of  the  landlord : 

"  Can  you  tell  me  that  young  man's  name  ? " 


270       The  Counffrfeiters  of  the   Cuyahoga. 

"  I  reckon  I  can — that's  the  chap  they're  talkin'  about, 
He's  the  fellow  that  put  a  bullet  in  Darwin,  a  man  who  could 
drink  twice  as  much  whisky  as  any  other  man  in  this 
county." 

The  stranger  immediately  followed  Brome,  but  he  was  not 
quick  enough  to  observe  that  the  young  lawyer  had  been  met 
by  a  man  who  on  an  important  occasion  had  vowed  to  befriend 
him,  and  who  was  about  to  tell  him  that  the  tall,  handsome 
man  he  had  seen  before  Barton's  bar-room  stove  was  an  in 
dividual  from  whom  he  had  more  to  fear  than  from  Sandys 
or  Anstey,  or  any  other  of  their  village  accomplices.  Hav 
ing  communicated  this  information,  Harry's  friend  said : 

"  You  go  home,  and  I'll  watch.  There's  to  be  plotting 
done  to-night,  and  I  know  where,  and  I  mean  to  know  what 
it  is,  but,  Harry  Brome,  you  will  s'tand  by  me  if  I  get  in 
trouble  by  it.  I  am  sober  now.  I  have  been  all  day,  and  I 
shall  not  drink  to-night." 

"  You  know  you  can  depend  on  me,  Tickell.  Keep  the 
promise  you  now  make,  and  I  can  depend  on  you.  Remem 
ber  every  thing  depends  on  you  to-night." 

"  You  needn't  fear,"  answered  Tickell,  as  he  wrung 
Brome's  hand.  Harry  went  directly  home,  while  his  com 
panion  stealthily  returned  to  the  village. 

Tickell  visited  Barton's  tavern,  and  made  a  hasty  survey 
of  the  bar-room,  then  he  turned  his  face  toward  Sandys'  gro 
cery.  As  he  approached  it  he  saw  the  door  open,  and  the 
light  which  gleamed  into  the  street  showed  him  that  the  tall, 
handsome  man  who  had  attracted  Brome's  attention  in  the 
tavern,  was  about  to  give  Grocer  Sandys  a  call.  Tickell 
was  tempted  to  follow  the  stranger  at  once,  but  he  had  plans 
to  further  which  could  be  best  prosecuted,  for  the  present, 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.       271 

outside  of  the  grocery.  He  had  heard  that  Mervin,  Tom 
Darwin's  closest  confidant,  was  in  the  village,  and  he  wished 
to  see  him.  Mervin  and  he  had  been  old  chums,  and  he  was 
certain  that  if  he  could  induce  the  villain  to  warm  himself 
with  a  fe\v  social  glasses,  he  could  gain  some  profitable  in 
formation  from  him.  Tickell  suspected  that  Mervin  would 
visit  the  grocery,  and  it  was  his  intention  to  watch  for  and 
fall  in  with  him.  While  he  was  watching,  Deacon  Anstey 
entered  the  grocery.  Tickell  grew  tired  of  his  dull  task, 
and  determined  to  see  why  the  handsome  stranger  and  the 
sly  deacon  had  called  upon  the  grocer.  When  he  presented 
himself  before  the  counter  he  found  no  one  in  attendance 
but  a  flaxen-haired  boy,  who  was  known  to  be  remarkable  for 
his  dullness.  This  boy  was  more  dull  than  usual,  being 
apparently  half  asleep,  and  Tickell  could  not  ascertain  from 
him  whether  Sandys  had  been  at  home  that  evening  or  not. 
The  boy  knew  nothing.  Tickell's  suspicions  were  highly  ex 
cited,  and  his  curiosity  to  know  why  Anstey  and  the  stranger 
had  called  on  Sandys  and  gone  into  secret  council  was  intense, 
but  as  he  had  received  no  intimation  of  the  meeting,  he  dared 
not  venture  to  intrude  upon  the  circle.  He  was  reluctantly 
obliged  to  retrace  his  footsteps  back  to  Barton's.  However, 
he  did  not  give  up  hope  of  meeting  Mervin.  Barton  knew 
the  outlaw's  friend,  and  Tickell  applied  to  him  for  information 
concerning  his  hiding  place. 

"  He's  been  wanting  to  see  you,"  said  Bartcn,  "  and  I'll 
tell  him  you  are  here." 

"  You  can  give  us  a  place  for  a  little  private  confab,  and 
something  to  keep  us  awake  ?  " 

"  On  terms,  Tickell.     You  know,  on  terms." 


272  The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

"  Of  course  ;  I'm  in  luck  just  now,  and  can  stand  one 
treat." 

This  was  said  in  a  tone  Barton  understood,  and  with  a  sly 
wink  he  conducted  Tickell  to  a  small  back  room,  in  which 
many  dark  and  drunken  scenes  had  been  enacted,  then  went 
in  quest  of  Mervin.  He  was  not  long  absent,  and  when  Mer- 
vin  entered  the  den  of  secret  carousal  where  Tickell  awaited 
him,  he  cried : 

"  Good  for  a  big  time,  old  chum.  I  expected  to've  been 
out  of  this  town  to-night,  but  circumstances  was  agin  me,  and 
I'm  not  in  the  best  of  spirits.  I'd  just  as  lief  take  a  jollify 
with  you  as  any  other  fellow." 

"  All  right,  then,"  answered  Tickell,  shaking  the  rough 
hand  extended  to  him.  "  You  see  I've  got  the  documents." 

"  You're  a  clever  chap,  and  you'll  join  me  in  a  big  glass 
to  Tom  Darwin.  Curse  my  stars  if  I  don't  want  to  put  a 
ball  in  that  fellow  who  stopped  him  with  his  rifle,  but  then 
I  won't.  There's  a  worse  trap  set  for  him  than  I  could 
manage." 

"  You  mean  Brome." 

"Ijistdo." 

"  I  understand,  Mervin,  but  I  'm  afraid  it  won't  work. 
That  fellow's  got  some  friends  in  this  town,  and  they'll  make 
a  big  fuss." 

"  Who  cares  ?  It  must  work.  It's  fixed  right,  and  any 
how  that  fellow  goes  out  of  the  wa^  " 

"  Which  fellow  ?  "  asked  Tickell,  with  a  knowing  wink. 

"  Why,  Brome,  of  course  ;  t'other  one's  already  fixed. 
Tom  Darwin's  not  a  man  to  half  do  things.  But  I'll  tell 
you,  Tickell,  sometimes  I'm  a  little  squeamish.  If  it  could 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.  273 

have  been  done,  I'd  've  squared  things  up  one  way  or 
t'other." 

"  Squared  things  up  one  way  or  t'other.  I  don't  exactly 
understand." 

"  Then  you  don't  know  quite  as  much  as  I  reckoned  you 
did.  You'll  have  to  wait  a  spell  before  you  do.  You're  all 
right,  Tickell,  but  I  can't  let  you  in  just  yet.  You  know  I 
am  one  of  the  chaps  that  can't  be  pumped." 

"  And  I  'm  one  of  the  chaps  that  wouldn't  try  to  pump  you, 
but  I'll  own  up  that  I  don't  know  all  about  this,  scheme  you're 
in  with  Etherege  and  Brome,  and  I'd  like  to  be  a  little  better 
posted,  because  I've  got  to  work,  and  I  can't  work  in  the 
dark,  and  what's  more,  I  won't  try.  Neither  Anstey  nor 
Sandys,  nor  that  handsome  new  fellow,  Leyton,  can  make  a 
blind  tool  out  of  me." 

"  You're  right,  Tickell,  and  that  makes  me  think  of  it.  I 
promised  to  sneak  up  to  the  grocery  to-night,  and  if  you 
come  along,  maybe  your  peepers  will  be  opened." 

To  this  proposition  Tickell  demurred.  He  said  he  had 
calculated  on  a  good  social  time,  and  he  didn't  like  to  give  it 
up,  but  Mervin  said : 

"  Pshaw,  come  along  ;  we'll  have  a  good  time  up  there. 
The  old  grocer  will  have  to  tap  some  of  his  choice  kegs." 

After  feigning  to  take  a  starting  drink  with  the  outlaw, 
Tickell  grasped  his  arm,  and  the  two  worthies  marched 
cautiously  toward  the  grocery. 


18 


CHAPTER  X. 

PLOTS  THICKEN. 

DEACON  ANSTEY,  Grocer  Sandys,  and  the  handsome 
stranger  had  been  for  several  hours  engaged  in  earnest  con 
versation.  The  stranger  whom  Anstey  called  Colonel  Ley- 
ton,  with  a  submissive  emphasis  on  the  Colonel,  had  visited 
Cuyahoga  village  for  the  purpose  of  completing  arrangements 
to  prosecute  a  banking  system,  exceeding  in  magnitude  any 
scheme  of  the  character  which  had  ever  been  prosecuted  in 
America.  He  was  quite  surprised  and  very  much  chagrined 
to  learn  that  the  friends  on  whom  he  relied  were  suspected, 
and  were  involved  ia  an  enterprise,  to  relieve  themselves, 
which  threatened  to  explode  his  plans  to  their  fullest 
extent. 

"  The  whole  of  it  is  bad,"  he  said.  "  I  told  you  long  ago 
Darwin  wasn't  to  be  trusted.  He  was  always  reckless.  He 
never  valued  any  body's  life,  and  didn't  care  how  much  peril 
he  brought  on  his  associates." 

"  That's  a  fact,  Colonel,"  said  Anstey.  "  I  was  always 
afraid  of  him." 

"  And  that's  another  fact,"  retorted  Sandys, "  I  believe  he 
hated  you,  and  that's  the  reason  we're  in  this  scrape.  Un- 

'274) 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.  275 

less  Harry  Brome  is  got  out  of  the  way,  we'll  all  wear 
striped  trowsers." 

"  Come,  come,  friends,  this  is  no  time  for  wrangling. 
We're  in  a  bad  scrape,  arid  must  make  the  best  of  it.  If  I 
had  known  yesterday,  however,  what  I  know  to-day,  I  had 
not  been  here  to-night;  but  I  am  satisfied  every  thing  de 
pends  on  shutting  up  the  fellow  you  call  Brome.  Can't  he 
be  bought  ? " 

"  Bought!  "  said  Anstey.  "  Bought.  You  might  as  well 
talk  about  buying  a  flash  of  lightning  if  you  were  in  a  dark 
corner — " 

"  Them's  my  sentiments,"  said  Sandys  slowly. 

"  Then  he  must  be  convicted  of  the  murder  of  the  missing 
man  you  call  Etherege.  There's  no  other  way,"  answered 
the  Colonel. 

"  And  as  soon  as  he  is  arrested,  he'll  blow  on  us." 

'•  That  risk  you  must  take,  Mr.  Sandys,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"  But  I  don't  believe  he  will,  lie's  not  had  a  chance  to  get 
enough  to  blow  on,  unless  you  have  some  traitor  among  you 
here.  Do  you  suspect  any  body  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Anstey.  "  I  guess  Mervin's  safe. 
He  was  a  confidant  of  Darwin's,  but  I'm  a  little  suspicious  of 
Tickell.  His  folks  live  near  Brotne  Cottage,  and  Mrs.  Brome 
has  often  sent  them  things.  He's  a  good-natured,  easy  fellow, 
and  ^s'e'll  have  to  watch  him." 

"  You'd  better  watch  him,  and  don't  let  him  know  any 
more  than  he  now  does.  The  plans  I  have  revealed  to-night, 
you  must  keep  to  yourselves.  But  where  is  that  Mervin  you 
spoke  of?  You  tell  me  he's  the  only  man  who  really  knows 
whether  the  devil  has  that  Etherege  or  not." 


2j6        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

"  He  promised  to  come  up  here  to-night,"  answered  San 
dys,  "  and  it's  about  time  he  was  coming." 

"  Well,  I'm  dry,  Sandys,"  returned  Leyton,  "  suppose  you 
go  and  fill  up  the  bottle,  and  see  if  he's  not  in  the  grocery." 

Sandys  went  out  of  the  council-chamber,  and  Leyton  rose 
and  walked  backward  and  forward,  while  Anstey  watched 
him  with  a  sadly  puzzled  expression  on  his  countenance. 

When  Sandys  appeared  behind  his  counter  in  his  grocery, 
he  was  confronted  by  two  persons  who  had  for  some  time 
been  waiting  his  appearance.  The  grocer  was  not  pleased 
to  see  at  least  one  of  them,  but  he  must  appear  as  if  he  was 
right  glad,  so,  after  shaking  Mervin's  hand,  he  greeted  Tick- 
ell  with  a  great  show  of  cordiality.  This  same  show  Tickell 
returned.  While  he  was  returning  it,  he  did  not  fail  to 
observe  that  Sandys  gave  Mervin  a  significant  wink. 

When  Sandys  went  among  his  liquor  casks  in  the  back 
part  of  his  grocery,  Mervin  followed  him,  arid  when  Sandys 
again  appeared  where  he  could  address  Tickell,  Mervin  was 
not  with  him. 

Tickell  was  accustomed  to  peculiar  maneuvers  on  the  part 
of  Sandys  and  Anstey :  he  was  quite  disappointed  in 
Mervin's  disappearance,  but  he  knew  it  would  be  vain  to  at 
tempt  to  get  in  the  council,  and  he  resolved  to  ward  oif  sus 
picion.  He  chatted  with  Sandys  a  few  moments,  because  he 
saw  that  the  grocer  was  itching  to  get  away  from  him,  and 
did  not  know  how  to  accomplish  it.  When  he  relieved  his 
host's  perplexity  by  declaring  that  he  must  go  down  to  iiar- 
ton's,  Sandys  used  an  expression  in  which  cowardly  lies  are 
often  concealed,  in  more  respectable  and  worthy  company — 
"  You  needn't  be  in  a  hurry;"  but  Tickell's  "call"  to  the 
tavern  was  peremptory,  and  he  left  Sandys  rejoicing. 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        277 

When  Tickell  went  out  of  the  grocery,  he  was  wiser  than 
when  he  entered  it.  Over  Sandys'  best  brandy  he  had  had 
a  somewhat  satisfactory  chat  with  Mervin,  and  now,  instead 
of  g°mg  to  Barton's  tavern,  he  went  to  Brorne  Cottage. 

The  grocery  door  was  no  sooner  closed  behind  Tickell  than 
Sandys  hastened  whither  he  had  sent  Mervin.  He  found 
Leyton,  Anstey,  and  the  outlaw  talking  earnestly.  Anstey 
had  been  remonstrating,  but  his  influence  was  overpowered 
by  the  others,  and  Mervin  said : 

"  I  am  satisfied,  Colonel.  Here's  a  witness  to  the  bar 
gain.  I  know  a  fellow  who  was  followed  by  Harry  Brome 
that  day  ;  he'll  swear  that  Tom  Darwin  told  the  truth.  I'll 
get  an  affidavit  from  him  to-morrow,  and  the  rest  I'll  finish 
before  sunrise  ;  but  mind  you,  if  the  bargain  aint  kept,  I'll 
blow  the  whole  of  you,  if  my  neck  is  stretched  for  it." 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  us,  and  we  won't  of  you.  You 
can  depend  on  us.  because  you  know  what  is  our  interest,  and 
we  can  depend  on  you  because  we  know  what  is  yours,  and 
then  you  want  to  revenge  Darwin's  death." 

"  That  I  do,  Colonel ;  and  I  will,  you  can  bet  your  life." 

Sandys,  who  had  been  till  now  a  quiet  listener,  demanded 
explanations,  which  the  Colonel  gave  him.  He  considered 
the  plans  a  few  moments,  and  then  agreed  to  do  whatever 
was  required  of  him  to  further  them.  His  own  safety,  as  he 
thought,  was  involved  in  their  success. 

Anstey  feared  that  his  safety  was  involved  in  the  same 
luccess,  and  he  feared  to  have  the  plans  put  into  execution. 
If  never  before  in  his  life,  he  now  regretted  the  hypocriti 
cally  wicked  career  into  which  his  inordinate  avarice  had 
led  him.  He  was  rich,  but  he  was  not  respected — not  even 
among  his  companions  in  fraud.  All  his  life  he  had  coveted 


278        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

cash,  now  he  coveted  character.  He  drank  deeply  to  over 
come  his  dread  emotions,  but  when  he  went  home,  in  spite  of 
his  maudlin  condition,  he  was  racked  with  accusing  fears, 
wicked  hopes  and  bitter  regrets.  His  curses  on  himself  for 
his  first  step  in  counterfeiting  were  more  expressive  than 
deacons  generally  are  presumed  to  command. 

When  Anscey  bid  his  confreres  good  night,  he  supposed 
that  Sandys  and  Leyton  had  separated  for  that  night.  They 
deceived  him.  As  soon  as  the  Colonel,  who  went  out  with 
Anstey,  parted  from  him  on  the  street,  he  returned  to  the 
grocer's  council-room — and  when  these  two  schemers  had  sat 
down  to  a  third  bottle  of  brandy,  Leyton  said  : 

"  I  believe  you're  right;  Anstey's  afraid.  He'd  back  out 
now,  square,  if  he  could.  We  must  hook  him  in  deeper,  and 
it  must  be  done  in  connection  with  that  devil  you've  waked 
up  here." 

"  You  mean  Brome  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.  It's  infernal  bad  that  you  should  have 
let  him  get  a  clue." 

"  Let,  thunder  and  lightning.  There's  no  let  about  it. 
He  saw  us  in  the  woods ;  but  then,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Tom 
Darwin's  dare-devil  propensity,  and  Anstey's  cowardice, 
he'd  never  troubled  us.  Now,  we're  in  for  it,  and  he  must 
swing — or  at  least  be  jugged  till  we  are  safe." 

"  And  Anstey  must  make  him  swing." 

"  That'll  be  too  hard,  Colonel.  He  hates  him  like  poison, 
but  he's  too  much  afraid  to  take  a  public  stand.  I  wouldn't 
be  in  favor  of  trusting  him — the  first  man  who  attacked  him 
would  find  weak  places.  He  used  to  have  pluck,  but  he's 
lost  it  lately." 

"  If  he  don't  go  it  who  will  ?  " 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.  279 

"  We'll  have  to  depend  on  Mcrvin.  He's  a  trump.  Ex 
citement  is  high,  and  when  Mervin's  friend  gets  out  a  war 
rant,  we'll  throw  our  respectable  influence  in  the  scale." 

"  Our  respectable  influence — that's  a  fact,  and  it  will  be 
respectable  influence.  Let  us  get  out  of  this  fuss,  and  the 
scheme  is  clear." 

"  That  reminds  me,  Colonel,  you  were  going  to  give  me 
some  more  particulars  about  what's  been  done." 

"  It's  very  late  and  I  must  be  off,  but  I  can  tell  you  that 
a  large  amount  of  the  currency  is  now  ready.  Nick  Biddle 
himself  couldn't  detect  the  notes.  Look  at  these." 

The  Colonel  handed  Sandys  half  a  dozen  counterfeit  notes 
on  the  United  States  Bank.  Sandys'  eyes  twinkled  as  he 
examined  them,  and  when  he  pronounced  them  good,  the  Col 
onel  continued : 

"  It's  a  good  scheme.  We've  already  made  arrangements 
for  a  vessel  at  New  Orleans ;  Johnston,  who,  you  know,  is  a 
big  merchant  in  Cleveland,  is  fully  with  us,  and  there  are 
other  big  men  in  it.  Just  let  us  get  our  bark  into  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico  once,  and  she  shall  go  straight  to  China,  where,  with 
our  currency,  we  can  put  in  a  splendid  cargo,  and  before  the 
notes  can  corne  back  here,  we  can  pocket  the  profits  and  take 
care  of  ourselves.  Think  if  it  is  not  worth  some  risk,  Mr. 
Sandys." 

Grocer  Sandys  did  think.  When  Colonel  Leyton  went 
staggering  to  Barton's  tavern,  long  after  midnight,  Sandys 
•went  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  lie  could  not  sleep  for  think 
ing. 

Had  the  intention  of  his  thoughts  been  honest,  they  would 
not  have  disturbed  his  rest. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  ARREST. 

IT  was  Tuesday  morning.  Joseph  Etherege  had  been 
missing  since  Saturday  afternoon.  Diligent  and  thorough 
search  for  him  had  been  fruitless.  Public  opinion  declared 
that  he  had  been  murdered  for  his  money.  By  whom  and 
how  ?  were  the  absorbing  topics  of  speculation  in  Cuyahoga 
village  and  vicinity.  At  Brome  Cottage  speculations  on  the 
mysterious  fate  of  its  guest  had  occupied  every  mind.  A 
thousand  conjectures  had  been  indulged,  and  a  thousand  plans 
discussed ;  but  when  Harry  Brome  came  home  the  acknowl 
edged  cause  of  Darwin's  death,  and  immediately  was  talked 
of  as  the  only  person  who  could  tell  what  had  become  of  his 
friend,  all  other  plans  and  conjectures  were  merged  in  one 
comprehensive  purpose — to  crush  his  conspiring  enemies  by 
exposing  their  frauds,  at  the  same  time  revealing  the  mys 
tery  of  Etherege's  fate,  and  the  true  cause  of  his  death  or 
abduction. 

Mrs.  Brome  and  Harry  had  met  Tickell  at  a  late  hour  in  the 
night,  and  they  were  seated  at  a  late  breakfast  when  a  serv 
ant  entered  the  room  and  said  a  gentleman  wished  to  see 
Mr.  Brome. 

Harry  went  out  and  met  Constable  Sedley.     He  invited 

(280) 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.       281 

the  officer  into  the  cottage,  but  the  invitation  was  declined. 
'•  My  business  is  with  you — it's  a  little  particular  and  I  don't 
like  it,  but  I  must  do  my  duty,  and  I  wouldn't  like  to  alarm 
your  mother  and  sister.  I've  only  a  little  document  to  show 
you." 

He  handed  Brome  a  small  slip  of  paper,  and  Harry  read 
it  carefully,  without  any  outward  emotion.  It  was  a  war 
rant  lor  his  arrest  as  the  murderer  of  Joseph  Etherege.  It 
had  been  issued  upon  the  oath  of  Ben  Danmer,  an  easy-go 
ing,  indolent  young  man,  who  hung  about  Barton's  tavern, 
and  who  drove  a  team,  or  chopped  wood,  when  his  necessities 
required  him  to  work — when  Barton  would  not  trust  him  for 
board  or  for  whisky,  unless  "  the  old  score  was  wiped  out." 
He  had  been  chopping  for  Barton  on  Saturday,  near  the 
place  at  which  Etherege  disappeared. 

"  Walk  into  the  house,  Mr.  Sedley.  I  must  show  this  to  my 
mother." 

The  constable  was  confused,  and  he  made  no  reply,  but  me 
chanically  followed  Brome. 

When  he  entered  the  breakfast-room,  Mrs.  Brome  bid 
him  good  morning,  and  invited  him  to  be  seated,  but  he  stood 
near  the  door  changing  his  hat  from  one  hand  to  the  other, 
and  said : 

"  It's  mighty  unpleasant,  Mrs.  Brome,  but  I'm  a  public 
officer,  a  servant,  madam,  and  must  do  my  duty." 

Harry  had  handed  the  warrant  to  his  mother,  and  she  only 
bowed  in  response  to  the  constable's  apology. 

"  Who  was  with  Mr.  Danmer  when  this  warrant  was 
issued  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Brome. 

'•  Well,  there  was  several  at  the  'Squire's.  I  recollect 
Deacon  Anstey,"  said  the  constable. 


282       The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

'*  There  can  be  no  bail  given  ?  " 

"  Not  in  such  a  case,  madam." 

"  Harry  must  go  with  you  to  prison,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  but  not  just  now  to  real  jail.  He's  goin'  to 
be  examined  in  the  village,  maybe  this  afternoon,  maybe 
to-morrow,  and  till  then  he'll  have  to  be  shut  up  in  a  room 
at  Barton's." 

"  Your  instructions  are  that  he  shall  go  there  ?  " 

"  That's  the  distressing  fact,  ma'am." 

As  the  constable  spoke  these  words  in  a  tone  of  sympathy, 
he  looked  sharply  at  Mrs.  Brome.  He  could  not  understand 
her.  She  was  so  calm. 

"  Do  you  know  any  of  the  evidence  on  which  it  is  expect 
ed  to  sustain  this  charge  ?  "  said  Harry. 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  I  do,  but  I  heard  Danrner  say  that  he 
could  swear  what  Tom  Darwin  told  me  was  true,  because  he 
was  with  Darwin  when  it  was  done.  I  don't  know  as  I  ought 
to  say  any  thing  about  it,  but  that's  all  I  know." 

"  That's  what  I  or  any  body  else  could  have  guessed,  and 
you  run  no  risk  in  telling  it,"  returned  Brome. 

The  constable  did  not  like  this  response,  and  he  said : 

"  Well,  Mr.  Brome,  we  needn't  dispute,  but  we'll  go  to  the 
village  as  soon  as  you  are  ready.*' 

Harry  looked  at  his  mother  inquiringly,  and  she  said  : 

"  Go,  Harry,  at  once.  Alice  went  over  to  Mr.  Ilumis- 
ton's  to  see  Edith,  who  came  home  last  night.  We'll  all 
come  down  to  see  you  when  she  returns." 

"  I  am  your  prisoner,  Mr.  Sedley,"  said  Harry. 

The  constable  led  the  road  and  Harry  followed,  after  whis 
pering  to  his  mother  that  Tickell  must  be  seen  before  night. 

Harry  Brome  had  not  been  a  prisoner  at  Barton's^-tarefn 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.      283 

half  an  hour  before  all  the  people  of  the  village  were  discuss 
ing  the  probabilities  of  his  examination  by  the  village  'Squire. 
The  bar-room  was  crowded,  and  the  landlord  did  a  "  thriving  " 
business. 

Mrs.  Prime  was  not  at  all  disappointed  when  the  news  of 
the  arrest  reached  her  ears.  Of  course  she  had  expected  it. 
But  she  was  very  sorry  for  Mrs.  Brome.  She  would  go  at 
once  and  suggest  the  consolations  of  religion  to  her.  When 
neighbors  were  in  trouble  it  was  Christian-like  for  their  friends 
to  give  them  religious  counsel.  Immediately  Mrs.  Prime  was 
"  fixed  up  "  and  on  her  way  to  Brome  Cottage.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  it  was  a  long  time  before  her  knock  was  answered. 
But  the  folks  were  in  trouble  and  she  must  exduse  them,  she 
supposed.  At  length  Mrs.  Brome  answered  the  summons  in 
person. 

What  a  contrast  there  was  in  the  appearance  and  bearing 
of  those  two  women  as  they  met.  One  was  calm,  and  digni 
fied  and  commanding.  Her  dress  was  of  plain,  soft  mate 
rial,  and  without  ornament.  Mrs.  Prime  was  restless,  sus 
picious,  and  forbidding.  Two  little  tight  curls,  which  peeped 
out  from  the  lining  of  her  bonnet,  were  kept  in  perpetual 
motion  by  her  restlessness.  She  wore  a  plain  black  silk  dress. 
The  sharp  lines  of  its  folds,  as  they  fell  over  her  thin  frame, 
were  in  keeping  with  the  jealous  severity  of  her  character. 

It  always  seemed  to  me  that  a  generous-hearted,  true  wo 
man  should  never  wear  harsh,  black  silk.  There  is  a  class  of 
narrow-minded,  ill-tempered,  severe  women,  with  whose  char 
acteristics  it  is  in  keeping.  They  admire  it ;  it  becomes 
them  ;  and,  as  it  is  not  in  harrrfony  with  a  liberal,  hopeful 
character,  to  disappointed,  soured  spinsters,  and  wives  and 
maidens  who  will  be  cross  and  jealous,  and  carry  unhappi- 


284        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

nesa  wherever  they  go,  it  ought  by  other  women  to  be  .wholly 
surrendered. 

But  though,  in  plain  silk,  Mrs.  Prime,  with  jewels  and  rib 
bons,  made  quite  a  rich  show.  She  never  went  visiting 
or  to  church  without  giving  her  neighbors  good  reason  to 
believe  that  vanity,  as  well  as  gossip,  was  one  of  her  charac 
teristics,  and,  having  an  impression  to  make  at  Brome  Cot 
tage,  as  a  matter  of  course,  she  appeared  "  to  the  best  possi 
ble  advantage." 

Mrs.  Brome  did  not  invite  her  in.  She  stood  in  the  hall 
with  an  inquiring  expression  on  her  countenance,  which  plain 
ly  enough  said — "  Mrs.  Prime,  what  is  the  occasion  of  your 
call  tliis  morning  ?  " 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Brome,  but  really  I  have  heard 
that  Mr.  Brome  had  been  taken  by  the  constable  this  morn 
ing,  and  I  didn't  know  but  you  might  be  in  trouble,  and  I 
came  to  inquire  if  any  of  our  church  could  render  you  any 
assistance." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Prime,  for  any  sympathy  you  may 
have,  but  you  could  afford  us  no  aid.  I  know  my  son  to  be 
the  victim  of  a  wicked  conspiracy,  and  he  needs  no  defense 
which  his  character  will  not  make  for  him." 

"  But  it's  terrible,  Mrs.  Brome,  and  you'll  allow  me  to 
recommend  to  you  the-  consolations  of  the  Gospel." 

"  The  same  recommendation  I  have  had  before  this  morn 
ing  from  your  worthy  minister,  with  whom  I  was  conversing 
when  you  knocked." 

"  Ah  !  then  my  poor  words  come  late,  but  you'll  have  my 
prayers,  Mrs.  Brome." 

*'  Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Brome,  bowing  ;  and  Mrs.  Prime 
bowing  in  return,  retreated,  for  she  was  not  dull-of  appro- 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        285 

hension,  and  she  had  become  convinced  that  she  was  not 
needed  at  Brome  Cottage. 

As  she  went  away  she  said  to  herself,  "  How  she  froze  me 
off.  I  never  did  like  her.  I  can't  have  any  more  charity. 
Parson  Ilumiston  !  yes,  I'll  warrant  he's  there.  He's  most 
too  thick  there.  I  just  believe  Harry  Brome  will  be  con 
victed,  and  then  what'll  Parson  Humiston  say  ?  " 

Mrs.  Brorne  had  no  uncharitable  remarks  to  make  yfhen 
she  parted  from  Mrs.  Prime,  but  very  likely  she  could  not 
entertain  very  high  respect  for  a  person  who,  on  the  pretense 
of  giving  pious  consolation,  would  endeavor  to  intrude  upon 
her  grief  for  the  sake  of  getting  materials  for  gossip.  Poor 
Mrs.  Prime,  her  selfishness  and  vanity  and  jealousy  were 
transparent.  She  was  one  of  a  class  which  is  quite  numer 
ous  in  even  this  day  of  "  progress."  When  we  are  in  deep 
trouble  true  friends  are  rare,  but  often  those  are  numerous 
who  pretend  to  give  us  sympathy  for  the  sake  of  getting  our 
confidence,  that  they  may  know  how  weak  or  how  hard 
hearted  we  are,  and  make  capital  out  of  our  infirmities. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE  PRISONER. 

HARRY  BROME  had  been  a  prisoner  for  one  day.  His 
mother  and  Alice,  Parson  Humiston  and  Edith  Ilumiston, 
his  daughter,  had  visited  him.  He  was  stronger  in  spirit 
than  when  his  arrest  was  made,  but  he  had  yet  been  stronger 
if  Alice  had  not  appeared  overcome  with  painful  fears  and 
conjectures.  She  would  have  been  entirely  prostrated,  but 
that  she  leaned  in  spirit  as  well  as  body,  upon  Edith  Ilumis 
ton,  who  was  as  dear  as  a  sister  to  her.  She  was'  older  and 
sterner  than  Alice.  They  differed  widely  in  appearance. 
Timidity  and  reserve  were  to  be  read  in  Alice's  deep-blue 
eyes.  Edith  was  tall  and  commanding.  She  was  not  un 
womanly  bold,  but  she  was  not  timid.  She  had  black  hair, 
and  very  black  eyes.  They  were  small,  bright,  keen  eyes. 
Alice  had  not  feared  to  give  Edith  suspicions  of  her  regards 
for  the  man  whom  her  brother  was  accused  of  having  mur 
dered,  but  how  eloquently  had  she  plead  that  brother's  inno 
cence  !  Edith  needed  no  eloquence  to  convince  her  of 
Brome's  innocence.  She  would  riot  have  believed  that  he 
could  decoy  a  friend  into  the  woods  and  murder  him  for  his 
money,  even  if  his  sister  had  feared  that  he  was  guilty. 

(286) 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.       287 

During  the  visit  of  these  friends,  Brome  had  no  oppor 
tunity  to  ascertain  satisfactorily  what  Tickell  was  doing 
for  him.  Whenever  company  was  permitted  to  enter  his 
prison-room,  he  was  closely  watched.  But  Mrs.  Brome 
had  scarcely  returned  to  Brome  Cottage  when  Tickell  slily 
visited  her,  and  she  was  assured  that  he  was  yet  true  to 
their  interests.  Upon  leaving  Mrs.  Brome  with  this  assur 
ance,  he  went  to  Barton's  tavern,  keenly  on  the  alert  for 
any  hints  which  might  aid  him  in  his  determination  to  serve 
Brome  at  the  expense  of  the  counterfeiters.  He  believed  that 
Joseph  Etherege  had  not  been  killed,  but  that,  in  some  safe 
retreat  about  the  village  or  in  the  woods,  he  was  a  prisoner 
like  Brome,  at  the  mercy  of  the  counterfeiters.  To  satisfy 
himself  whether  his  conjecture  was  true  was  now  his  purpose. 
He  mingled  in  the  throng  at  Barton's,  and  was  not  modest  in 
his  denunciations  of  Brome,  but  he  met  none  of  those  from 
whom  he  expected  to  derive  advantage  in  the  furtherance  of 
his  design.  He  wished  to  meet  either  Mervin  or  Danmer, 
or  both.  While  he  searched  for  them,  they  were  in  secret 
council  with  Ley  ton,  Sandys,  and  Anstey.  In  that  council 
plans  were  fully  arranged  for  the  conviction  of  Brome  before 
the  magistrate.  The  examination  would  take  place  the  fol 
lowing  day.  The  "  testimony"  was  all  prepared.  In  com 
pany  with  a  village  lawyer  who  had  long  been  one  of  Brorne's 
jealous  enemies,  the  task  of  this  preparation  had  been  com 
mitted  to  Deacon  Anstey.  Danmer's  story  was  shrewdly 
concocted,  and  he  had  learned  his  "  lesson."  This  accom 
plished,  Mervin  and  Danmer  were  permitted  to  take  leave  of 
the  leading  conspirators,  and  when  they  were  gone,  Sandys 
said : 

"  I  think  it's  a  sure  thing  now.     We  need  not  appear  in 


288       The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

it  at  all ;  Constable  Sedley  is  completely  our  dupe,  and  he 
can  make  out  case  enough  to  jug  Mr.  Brome  till  court  time, 
which  is  two  months  yet." 

"  It's  all  right,  I  think,"  answered  Leyton.  "  Two 
months  are  enough.  We  can  all  take  care  of  ourselves  in 
that  time." 

"  Maybe,  and  maybe  not,"  said  Anstey.  "  We've  got 
to  go  on,  I  suppose,  now,  but  we're  only  getting  ourselves 
deeper  into  the  trouble,  and  I  wish  I  was  out  of  the  whole 
of  it." 

"  As  much  of  a  coward  as  ever,"  retorted  Sandys.  "  We 
know  you,  Deacon  Anstey,  and  there's  no  escape  for  you. 
You  must  go  on ;  if  you  don't,  you're  a  dead  man,  if  I  have 
to  shoot  you  myself.  We're  in  a  devil  of  a  pickle  now,  that's 
a  fact,  but  we've  got  to  go  through  it,  and  then  you  can  go  to 
the  devil  if  you  want  to  ;  I'm  going  somewhere  else." 

"  I'm  not  so  much  of  a  coward,  Mr.  Sandys,  as  to  be 
afraid  of  your  shooting,"  answered  Anstey,  "  but  I'm  afraid 
your  somewhere  else  will  be  to  the  penitentiary,  and  that  we 
will  all  go  together.  If  you'd  taken  my  advice  long  ago, 
we  would  not  have  been  in  this  pickle." 

"  Hold  on  ! "  cried  Leyton.  "It's  no  use  to  quarrel 
among  ourselves  now.  Let's  wait  and  see  what's  done  to 
morrow.  I  promised  to  see  Lawyer  Swift  to-night,  and  it's 
time  I  was  hunting  him  up." 

The  parting  between  Sandys  and  Anstey  was  sullen. 
Each  was  really  afraid  of  the  other.  Sandys  wxmld  have 
been  glad  to  have  seen  .Anstey  in  limbo  could  he  have 
escaped  himself ;  and  if  any  friend  of  Brome's  had  gained 
Anstey's  conBdence  that  night,  he  might  have  learned  the 
true  cause  of  the  young  lawyer's  imprisonment. 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        289 

With  fears  and  passions  which  threw  him  in  a  state  of 
mind  justifying  such  conclusions,  Anstey  sought  for  Danmer. 
He  did  not  find  him.  Mervin,  Danmer  and  Tickell  had 
accidentally  met,  and  Mervin  bantered  Tickell  to  finish  the 
spree  they  began  the  night  previous.  Tickell  was  not  slow 
to  accept  this  banter.  It  was  a  short  spree,  for  Mervin  had 
important  business  to  transact  that  night ; '  but  before  it  was 
over,  Tickell  learned  that  Anstey  and  Sandys  somewhat 
suspected  him,  and  when  Mervin  left  him  to  transact  the 
business  on  which  he  excused  himself  from  longer  remaining 
in  his  company,  Tickell  had  a  curiosity  to  know  the  nature 
of  that  business.  He  did  not  express  that  curiosity  to  his 
companions,  but  he  gratified  it  by  following  their  footsteps. 
They  went  to  the  office  of  Lawyer  Swift,  where  they  met 
Leyton,  with  whom  Mervin  had  a  few  moments'  secret  con 
versation.  Then  he  took  leave  of  Danmer,  telling  him  he 
would  meet  him  early  in  the  morning.  Tickell  cautiously 
followed  the  outlaw.  He  was  impressed  that  something  im 
portant  to  Brorne  depended  on  his  actions  that  night,  and 
he  was  determined  to  know  whither  he  wandered  and  what 
he  did. 

Mervin  went  down  through  the  village,  and  crossed  the 
bridge  over  the  falls  of  the  river.  There  was  no  rnoon,  but 
it  was  a  clear  autumn  night,  and  Tickell  found  no  difficulty 
in  pursuing  the  conspirator.  He  followed  the  same  path 
Darwin  took  on  the  morning  they  met  at  the  spring  in  the 
woods.  He  walked  rapidly,  and  sometimes  talked  to  him 
self.  Tickell  saw  that  he  was  bearing  toward  that  part  of 
the  forest  where  Etherege  had  disappeared,  and  his  im 
pression  that  with  the  fate  of  the  missing  man,  Mervin's 
business  for  the  night  had  some  association,  grew  stronger. 
19 


290         The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

For  half  an  hour  the  pursuit  was  easy — then  the  wind  rose, 
and  occasional  clouds  crossed  the  sky — Mervin  was,  by  this 
time,  in  the  deep  woods.  lie  drew  a  small  lantern  from  his 
coat  pocket,  and  having  lighted  it,  pushed  forward  with 
quickened  steps.  Tickell's  difficulties  multiplied,  but  he 
succeeded  in  keeping  within  sight  of  the  lantern's  glow. 
Mervin  climbed  a  hill  and  descended  into  a  ravine.  He 
walked  through  this  ravine  till  he  reached  a  point  where  the 
rocks  were  large  and  numerous.  Then  he  halted  and  opened 
his  lantern  so  that  it  threw  light  on  all  sides.  Tickell  could 
now  more  easily  follow  the  conspirator,  notwithstanding  the 
ruggedness  of  the  path.  He  found  himself  at  the  opening 
of  a  cave.  His  heart  beat  heavily — his  breath  was  almost 
suspended.  In  his  anxiety  he  forgot  necessary  caution**- 
He  stumbled  over  a  fragment  of  a  rock,  and  fell  with  a 
groan.  In  an  instant,  Mervin  threw  the  light  of  his  lantern 
in  the  direction  of  the  groan,  and  saw  Tickell  gather  himself 
up.  He  did  not  recognize  him,  but  he  drew  a  pistol  and 
fired.  The  aim  was  not  sure,  and  Tickell  gained  his  feet 
unharmed.  With  all  his  energy,  he  grasped  a  fragment  of 
rock  and  hurled  it  at  the  conspirator.  The  aim  was  better 
than  had  been  that  of  Mervin's  pistol.  The  conspirator 
was  knocked  down;  his  lantern  was  broken,  and  its  light 
extinguished.  r 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    EXAMINATION. 

IT  was  cold,  drizzly  and  dreary — that  day  on  which  Harry 
Brome  was  to  be  examined  on  suspicion  that  he,  a  young 
Than  who  had  borne  a  character  previously  above  reproach, 
had  deceived  a  guest  at  his  mother's  house,  under  base  pre 
tense  of  friendship,  and  had  murdered  him  for  his  money. 
What  dishonest  speculation  could  he  have  engaged  in,  that 
he  so  pressingly  needed  the  money  as  to  go  to  so  terrible  an 
extremity  to  get  it  ?  was  a  conjecture  often  indulged  among 
a  portion  of  the  villagers ;  others  said  it  was  possible  that 
he  did  murder  Etherege,  but  not  for  his  money.  Some 
sudden  quarrel  must  have  arisen.  Perhaps  there  was  jeal 
ousy  between  them — perhaps  he  might  have  revenged  him 
self  for  some  family  insult,  real  or  fancied. 

These  and  many  other  suppositions  were  gossiped  upon 
as  the  number  increased  whom  curiosity  had  brought  to 
gether  to  hear  the  examination.  Notwithstanding  the  storm, 
which  grew  colder  as  the  day  advanced,  not  only  the  citizens 
of  the  village  gathered  in  and  around  the  tavern,  but  people 
came  from  the  country,  anxious  to  learn  all  that  had  trans 
pired,  and  all  the  stories  about  what  was  expected  to  trans- 

(291) 


292      The  Counterfeiters  of  the   Cuyahoga. 

pire.  There  was  no  office  in  the  town  large  enough  to  hold 
half  the  people  who  wished  to  hear  the  trial.  At  length 
Constable  Sedley  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  school-house. 
The  pupils  were  given  a  holiday  in  order  that  the  curiosity 
of  their  parents  and  friends  might  be  gratified  in  hearing  the 
testimony  which  was  expected  to  consign  to  infamy  a  feHow- 
being,  who  was  just  then  at  the  threshold  of  active  life. 

About  ten  o'clock  'Squire  Park  carried  his  "  authorities  "  to 
the  school-house.  lie  was  followed  by  Constable  Sedley,  with 
Brome  in  custody.  The  prisoner  was  accompanied  by  his 
mother  and  sister.  Parson  Humiston  and  his  daughter  were 
not  far  from  the  Brome  family.  Behind  and  around  the 
group  which  the  constable  conducted,  swarmed  men,  women 
and  children,  who  were  determined  to  see  all  that  was  to  be 
seen,  and  hear  all  that  was  to  be  heard. 

Harry  and  his  mother  looked  in  vain  among  the  faces  star 
ing  at  them,  for  Tickell's  well-known  features.  They  had 
been  expecting  tidings  from  him  since  the  evening  previous. 
Now  they  feared  that  his  designs  were  suspected,  and  that 
the  counterfeiters  had  dealt  foully  with  him.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  leading  conspirators  were  disturbed  by  the  non- 
appearance  of  Mervin.  When  last  seen,  he  had  promised  to 
meet  Danmer  early  in  the  morning.  He  had  not  again  been 
heard  from.  Could  he  have  fled  ?  was  he  a  traitor  ?  or  had 
he  been  waylaid  ?  He  was  a  slippery  fellow.  When  he  did 
not  keep  his  appointments,  there  was  reason  to  fear  that  he 
had  gone  over  to  the  enemy  for  a  bigger  bribe. 

All  this  Deacon  Anstey  considered,  and  he  was  very  ner 
vous.  Leyton  did  not  show  himself.  Sandys  was  quite  as 
much  disturbed  as  Anstey,  but  he  could  more  successfully 
conceal  his  inquietude. 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        293 

Brome  had  so  far  depended  on  Tickell  that  he  had  not  pre 
pared  even  the  form  of  a  defense  without  him.  His  own 
knowledge,  combined  with  what  Tickell  was  to  secure  proof  of, 
was,  iu  his  judgment,  sufficient  to  confound  the  conspirators 
and  expose  their  infamous  designs. 

Tickell  had'  failed  to  furnish  the  aid  promised,  at  the  hour 
when  it  could  alone  be  made  available  in  the  examination. 
Brome  must  meet  it  alone.  His  lawyer  was  a  tried  friend,  and 
a  shrewd  cross-questioner.  He  could  be  depended  upon  to 
sift  the  "  testimony  "  thoroughly. 

The  'Squire  opened  his  court;  the  witnesses  were  called, 
and  the  examination  proceeded  in  regular  order. 

It  was  proven  that  Brome  and  Etherege  had  gone  away 
from  the  village  in  a  buggy.  The  farmer,  of  whom  Etherege 
bought  land,  testified  to  the  particulars  of  their  visit  to  him, 
and  he  was  required  to  dwell  particularly  on  the  fact  that 
Etherege  had  said  he  intrusted  the  use  of  his  money  to 
Brome.  Other  testimony  of  a  technical  character  was  ad 
duced;  then  it  was  proven  that  Brome  returned  to  the  village 
in  a  great  excitement — that  he  showed  to  several'  persons  a 
handkerchief  stained  with  blood,  which  had  belonged  to  Eth 
erege — that  thorough  search  had  been  made  for  Etherege. 

When  Constable  Sedley  was  called  upon  the  stand,  he  gave 
clearly  the  incidents  of  the  meeting  with  Darwin.  Danmer 
was  the  next  witness.  Brome's  lawyer  had  not  as  yet  cross- 
examined  one  of  the  witnesses.  He  moved  forward  when 
Danmer  took  the  stand  and  gazed  intently  at  him.  Danmer 
did  not  quail  under  the  gaze.  It  had  been  anticipated  that 
Danmer  would  be  the  first  witness,  but  in  Lawyer  Swift's 
judgment,  it  was  better  that  something  of  a  case  should  be 
made  out  before  Mr.  Danmer  subjected  himself  to  scrutiny. 


294        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

Just  as  Danmer  had  taken  his  oath,  a  note  was  handed  to 
Brorne.  His  face  glowed  as  he  read  it.  He  showed  it  to 
his  mother,  and  her  lace  glowed  mure  brightly  than  her  son's 
had.  His  counsel  read  it  without  change  of  countenance  and 
put  it  iu  his  vest  pocket,  as  if  it  \\ere  of  litde  account,  but 
Danmer  had  noticed  the  interest  with  which  Brume  and 
his  mother  perused  it,  and  he  was  somewhat  disconcerted. 
He  managed,  however,  to  answer  calmly,  when  Lawyer  Swift 
asked  if  he  knew  the  prisoner. 

"  Did  you  see  him  on  Saturday  last?  " 

"  Yes  sir." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  at  his  mother's  cottage  in  the  morning,  and 
in  the  afr.ernoon  I  saw  him  in  the  woods  below  the  village." 

"What  was  he  doing?" 

"  I  had  been  chopping  wood  and  was  coming  to  the  village 
•with  Tom  Darwin,  who  said  he'd  been  out  shootin'  squirrels, 
when  I  heard  loud  words.  We  listened  a  minute,  and  then 
we  hurried  up  and  saw  Mr.  Brome  and  Mr.  Etherege." 

';  You  had  seen  Etherege  before?  "  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Yes  sir — several  times." 

"  What  were  Mr.  Etherege  and  Mr.  Brome  doing  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Etherege  was  doing  nothing.  I  thought  Mr.  Brome 
had  been  striking  him  with  his  rifle.  1  was  going  to  rush  on 
Brome,  when  Tom  Darwin  stopped  me.  He  said  he  wanted 
to  see  a  fight  between  them  fellows,  and  nobody  should  inter 
fere.  He'd  blow  my  brains  out  if  I  made  a  sign.  I  didn't 
care  about  having  my  brains  blown  out,  and  I  kept  still.  It 
was  good,  Tom  Darwin  said  ;  Brome  knew  a  little  too  much 
about  him,  and  now  he'd  got  him.  Let  him  kill  t'other  fel- 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.       295 

low.  I  knew  Darwin  didn't  care  what  he  did,  and  I  was 
afraid  of  him." 

"  What  kind  of  a  place  was  it  where  this  affray  occurred  ?  " 

'•  It  was  in  a  ravine  which  many  folks  know  out  there. 
There's  a  big  cave  in  the  hill,  and  it  was  right  close  to  this 
cave.  I  was  on  top  of  the  hill  when  I  heard  the  noise." 

"  What  did  Brome  do  with  Etherege  after  you  came  up?" 

"  He  didn't  do  any  thing.  Echerege  was  dead  then,  as 
near  as  I  could  see." 

"  Did  you  stay  there  and  watch  Brome  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  And  why  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Tom  Darwin  wouldn't  let  me.  lie  said  he'd  shoot  me 
if  I  didn't  come  away,  and  if  I'd  keep  still  a  few  days  he'd 
pay  me." 

"  What  was  Darwin's  motive  for  requiring  you  not  to  tell 
what  you  had  seen  ?  " 

"  1  don't  know.  He  didn't  give  me  any  reason,  only  that 
he  had  a  spite  agin  Brome,  and  he  wasn't  ready  yet  to  blow 
on  him." 

"  Did  you  sec  Brome  strike  Etherege  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I'm  sure  he  did." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  I  know  from  his  actions.     He  cut  up  like  a  guilty  man." 

There  had  been  a  death-like  stillness  in  the  court-room. 
When  Lawyer  Swift  said  he  had  asked  all  the  questions  he 
thought  necessary,  there  was  a  buzz  of  conversation,  but  it 
stopped  as  he  turned  to  Brome's  lawyer  and  said,  with  a  tri 
umphant  air: 

"  Take  the  witness." 

Lawver  Farlev  looked  sharplv  at  Danmer  and  said: 


296        The  Counterfeiters  of  the   Cuyahoga. 

"  You  were  a  friend  of  Tom  Darwin's  ?  " 

"Not  much." 

"  You  know  Deacon  Anstey,  and  Grocer  Sandys,  and  Bil 
ly  Mervin  ?  " 

"  Have  seen  them." 

"  Well,  when  did  they  concoct  for  you  this  story  which 
you  have  just  told  ?  " 

"  I  hope  the  witness  will  not  be  insulted,"  said  Lawyer 
Swift. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Farley.  "It's  a  civil  question.  He 
can  answer  it  easily.  Come,  Mr.  Danmer,  give  us  the  time." 

The  witness  made  no  response.  There  had  been  a  murmur 
.of  astonishment  in  the  audience.  Now  all  was  hushed. 
Deacon  Anstey  and  Grocer  Sandys  were  very  much  inter 
ested.  The  witness  was  out  of  his  "  lesson."  He  was 
thrown  on  his  own  resources.  The  deacon,  and  the  grocer 
were  anxious  to  know  how  he  would  "dodge"  the  lawyer. 

"  You  don't  answer  my  question,  Mr.  Danmer,"  said  the 
lawyer.  "  Yonder  is  Mr.  Anstey,  and  right  behind  you  is 
Mr.  Sandys.  They  can  correct  you  if  you  should  not  give 
the  right  date." 

"  May  it  please  the  court,"  said  Lawyer  Swift,  "  I  should 
like  to  understand  the  motive  of  these  insinuations  against 
the  witness  and  other  respectable  citizens  of  this  village." 

"  May  it  please  the  court,"  answered  Lawyer  Farley,  "  we 
make  no  insinuations.  We  mean  to  show  a  conspiracy  be 
tween  persons  who  are  now  .in  this  house,  and  some  others,  to 
convict  Mr.  Brome  of  a  crime  which  their  confederates  com 
mitted.  It  is  a  conspiracy  to  prevent  Mr.  Brome  from  bring 
ing  them  to  justice  for  their  villainy.  The  scheme  was  well 
laid,  but  not  so  well  that  it  cannot  be  exposed.  We  ask  that 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.          297 

Mr.  Sandys  and  Mr.  Anstey  be  brought  forward  and  detained 
as  witnesses  for  the  defense.'' 

The  order  desired  in  this  request  was  given,  and  Deacon 
Anstey  and  Grocer  Sandys  were  brought  within  view  of  all 
the  spectators.  They  exchanged  significantly  perplexing 
glances,  and  thought  with  serious  emotion  of  what  Brome 
had  seen  them  at  in  the  forest.  Neither  of  them  had  ever 
in  the  slightest  degree  imagined  that  he  could  be  put  on  the 
witness  sta'nd  for  Brome.  They  were  very  impatient  to  know 
what  Lawyer  Farley  would  ask  next. 

"  May  it  please  the  court,"  said  Lawyer  Swift,  "  it  is  now 
afternoon.  It  is  past  the  usual  time  for  adjournment.  I 
would  suggest  that  the  court  take  a  recess." 

"•  We  beg  the  gentleman  not  to  be  quite  so  anxious.  We 
have  no  objection  to  a  recess,  but  we  shall  demand  that  the 
witness  on  the  stand  be  taken  into  custody,"  said  Farley. 

"  On  what  ground  ?  "  demanded  Swift. 

"  That  he  is  perjured,"  replied  Farley. 

"  This  is  a  remarkable  proceeding,"  said  Swift. 

"  You  will  think  it  more  remarkable  still,  when  our  evi 
dence  is  all  in,"  answered  Farley. 

There  was  a  strange  feeling  of  mingled  hope  and  distrust 
in  the  audience.  The  'Squire  felt  it.  Lawyer  Swift  per 
ceived  it,  and  rose  to  take  advantage  of  it. 

"  May  it  please  the  court,  I  hope  this  irregular  proceeding 
on  the  part  of  the  defense  may  be  stopped.  It  is  all  founded 
on  presumption — impudent  presumption.  There  is  not  a  par 
ticle  of  proof — " 

"  There  is,"  rang  shrilly  from  a  voice  in  the  back  part  of 
the  school -house. 

At  this  moment  the  crowd   swaved   with   excitement,  and 


298        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

cries  of  "  Clear  the  way,"  '•  Clear  the  way,"  were  uttered  by 
many  voices. 

From  the  central  aisle  the  mass  of  men  parted  as  if  a 
magical  wand  had  fallen  between  them ;  at  the  same  time 
two  persons  were  hurried  toward  the  bar. 

"  Etherege  !  "  cried  Harry  Broine. 

"  Tickell !  "'cried  Anstey  and  Sandys  simultaneously,  and 
•with  the  cry  both  rose  to  their  feet.  In  the  confusion  they 
would  have  dashed  from  the  school-house,  but  Lawyer  Farley 
watched  them,  and  he  cried : 

"  Stop  the  conspirators!  " 

Anstey,  Sandys  and  Danmer  were  immediately  in  safe 
custody. 

"  The  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  an'  men 
Gang  aft  a-glcy." 

Of  the  meeting  between  Etherege  and  Brome  and  Mrs. 
Brome,  and  Alice  and  Etherege,  it  is  enough  to  say  that, 
there  were  cries  of  joy,  and  tears  and  congratulations,  and 
rapid  questions  and  quick  answers. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   LAST. 

THE  evening  after  Brome's  examination,  there  was  a 
remarkable  revolution  in  the  public  opinion  of  Cuyahoga 
village.  He,  who  had  been  a  wretch  for  whom  "  hanging 
was  too  good,"  was  regarded  as  a  deeply-injured  young  man 
— a  shrewd,  useful  young  man.  It  was  strange,  many 
people  said,  that  so  much  confidence  had  been  put  in  the 
charges  of  the  conspiring  counterfeiters. 

What  of  these  counterfeiters  ?  Tickell  had  managed  to 
inform  himself  of  the  treacherous  designs  of  Tom  Darwin, 
and  of  the  distrust  Leyton  and  Sandys  entertained  for 
Anstey.  When  he  told  the  whole  story  of  plotting  and 
counterplotting,  the  penitent  deacon  was  quite  vexed,  and  in 
his  vexation  he  talked  wildly,  so  wildly  that  Tickell  learned 
fully  the  object  of  Colonel  Leyton's  visit  to  Cuyahoga  village. 
It  was  not  hard,  then,  to  persuade  the  deacon  to  agree  to  di 
vulge  all  his  knowledge  of  the  counterfeiters,  upon  the  assur 
ance  that  he  should  escape  the  law's  reward.  Harry  Brome 
did  not  learn  from  the  deacon  the  motives  of  Etherege's  im 
prisonment,  but  he  did  learn  fully  those  for  the  subsequent 
conspiracy  against  his  own  liberty.  Etherege  was  able, 
however,  to  tell  a  satisfactory  story  about  his  capture  and 

(299) 


300       The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

detention.  His  friends  were  impatient  for  this  story  as  soon 
as  congratulations  on  his  escape  had  been  given  him.  Before 
the  Brome  family  and  friends  left  the  school-house,  many 
questions  were  put  to  him.  He  answered  them  as  fully  as 
was  possible  at  the  time,  but  while  he  and  Harry,  and  Alice 
and  Edith,  rode  in  a  carriage  from  the  village  to  Brome 
Cottage,  he  detailed  at  length  the  story  of  his  wrongs.  He 
said  that  Brome  had 'not  been  absent  from  him  more  than  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  when  a  blow  from  an  unexpected  and 
unseen  foe,  felled  him  to  the  ground.  He  was  rendered 
insensible.  When  his  consciousness  returned,  he  was  a 
prisoner,  in  a  lone,  dark,  damp  cell,  and  Tom  Darwin  was 
his  companion. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  What  am  I  a  prisoner  for?"  were  his 
first  words. 

"  You're  in  my  jail,"  answered  Darwin  with  an  oath, 
"  and  you'll  stay  here  till  you  learn  the  fun  of  spying  after 
other  folks's  business."- 

"  Where  is  Harry  Brome  ?  What  has  been  done  to 
him  ?  " 

"  Nothing  yet"  said  Darwin  with  a  sinister  smile.  "  lie 
has  gone  home  to  tell  his  folks  that  you're  lost  or  murdered. 
They'll  hunt  you,  but  they'll  not  find  you.  You're  safe." 

"  Safe  !  "  answered  Etherege,  "  in  the  power  of  an  out 
law — an  unscrupulous  counterfeiter  ?  Why  not  murder  me 
at  once  ?" 

"  That  wouldn't  suit  my  purpose,"  returned  Darwin  with 
provoking  calmness. 

Securely  bound,  Etherege  was  too  much  of  a  philosopher 
to  indulge  impotent  rage,  and  he  endeavored  to  speak  calmly 
to  his  jailor  and  learn  the  cause  of  his  imprisonment,  but 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.        301 

Darwin  only  taunted  him.  He  was  compelled  to  lose  his 
temper  or  be  silent.  The  outlaw  went  out  from  the  cell,  and 
was  absent  several  hours.  When  he  returned  he  was  accom 
panied  by  Billy  Mervin,  and,  from  their  conversation,  the 
prisoner  learned  that  his  friends  at  the  village  were  alarmed, 
and  that  thorough  search  was  to  be  made  for  him.  When 
his  captors  left  him  alone  again,  he  hallooed  until  his 
strength  failed  him,  in  hope  some  one  searching  for  him 
would  hear  the  cry.  He  had  no  idea,  however,  of  the  lo 
cality  of  his  prison.  For  aught  he  knew,  it  might  be  some 
subterranean  vault  in  the  village.  His  calls  for  help  were 
therefore  given  with  forlorn  hope.  There  was  no  light  in  his 
cell.  He  could  not  distinguish  between  night  and  day. 
Before  the  second  morning  of  his  imprisonment  arrived,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  many  days  and  many  nights  must  have 
passed.  He  could  take  no  note  of  time.  When  Mervin 
and  Darwin  left  him,  they  had  loosened  the  cords  with  which 
his  arms  were  tied,  and  he  had  slipped  his  hands  from  them. 
He  would  have  groped  about  his  dungeon,  but  he  feared 
some  trap  was  left,  some  pitfall,  by  which  his  life  would  be 
destroyed,  and  he  dared  not  venture  many  steps.  He  could 
have  welcomed  death,  but  that  he  hoped  for  rescue.  It  was 
not  a  flattering  tale  hope  told,  but  there  was  encouragement 
enough  in  it  to  render  the  prisoner  tenacious  of  life.  During 
the  first  hours,  or,  as  they  seemed  to  him  days,  of  his  imprison 
ment,  this  tenacity  was  a  sustaining  power.  It  grew  weaker 
and  weaker,  until  he  deliberately  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
must  die,  in  darkness,  a  lingering  death,  and  no  friend  ever 
know  his  sad  fate.  No  one  came  to  bring  him  food  or  drink. 
When  first  imprisoned  he  would  have  spurned  it,  but  he  grew 
weak  and  faint,  then  hungry — intensely,  desperately  thirsty 


302       The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

and  hungry.  He  felt  his  strength  departing.  His  gnawing 
hunger  and  burning  thirst  seemed  to  have  consumed  them 
selves,  and  he  was  left  reckless  of  life;  he  prayed  for  death. 
He  thought  of  the  world  and  all  its  gladness  for  a  young, 
healthful,  hopeful  man,  and  he  wished  for  death.  Whether 
he  thought  of  Brome  Cottage  and  its  inmates  especially,  he 
did  not  say,  but  his  eyes  told  tales  which  were,  to  those  who 
listened,  a  satisfactory  revelation  that  bitter  regrets  were 
blended  with  his  forced  resignation. 

He  wondered  how  long  a  man  could  live  without  nourish 
ment.  He  wished  to  calculate  how  many  days  had  passed 
since  he  was  taken  prisoner.  He  could  not  decide  satisfac 
torily,  not  because  he  had  not  been  informed  of  the  power 
of  human  endurance,  but  he  could  not  estimate  how  much 
strength  had  gone  from  him.  At  times  he  was  resolute — 
again  he  was  faint  and  weak.  He  passed  into  a  state  of 
forgetfulness — it  was  not  sleep — it  was  only  forgetfulness  of 
his  present  situation.  He  lived  over  again  scenes  which  were 
dear  in  his  memory.  Sweet  pleasure  surrounded  him,  when 
he  was  startled  by  a  sharp  cry — a  flash  of  light  pained  his 
eyes.  Some  one  shook  him  and  spoke  kind  words  to  him. 
He  aroused  himself  enough  to  ask : 

"  Where  am  I  ?  " 

"  With  a  friend,  who  comes  from  Harry  Brome.  Get  out 
of  this  dungeon  quick,  for  God's  sake,"  was  the  answer. 

Leaning  upon  the  friend  who  thus  encouraged  him,  Ether- 
ege  was  assisted  from  the  dungeon  into  a  large  underground 
chamber,  where  daylight  dimly  shone.  He  was  too  weak  to 
ask  explanations.  He  submitted  himself  to  his  guide,  and 
was  conducted  into  the  open  air.  Then  he  was  assisted  over 
and  around  rocks  which  jutted  from  a  hill-side.  When  he 


The  Counterfeiters   of  the  Cuyahoga.       303 

reached  the  bottom  of  a  deep  ravine,  his  guide  showed  him  a 
horse  and  wagon.  Disguised  in  a  farmer's  slouched  hat  and 
great  coat,  he  was  driven  to  Cuyahoga  village,  and  ushered 
into  the  place  where  his  friend  Brome  was  undergoing  exam 
ination  on  suspicion  of  being  his  murderer.  lie  recovered 
his  astonishment  just  in  time  to  complete  the  "  argument" 
Brome's  counsel  had  interposed  to  expose  the  counterfeiters' 
conspiracy.  Tickell  had  told  his  story  of  Etherege's  rescue 
to  Brome  at  the  school-house,  and  when  Etherege  concluded, 
Harry  briefly  sketched  Tickell's  exploits,  beginning  with 
incidents  which  the  course  of  our  Romance  has  revealed. 

When  Tickell  was  left  in  the  cave  with  Mervin,  he  dared 
not  call  for  fear  his  voice  would  tell  the  outlaw  where  to 
make  a  fresh  attack,  not  knowing  whether  that  individual 
was  seriously  or  slightly  wounded.  He  held  his  breath  and 
listened.  He  heard  deep  groans,  then  oaths,  then  the  ex 
clamation  : 

"  Come  out  there,  whoever  you  are;  if  you  wasn't  bored 
when  I  shot,  you  needn't  be  afeard.  You  did  the  business 
for  me." 

Tickell  did  not  know  whether  to  believe  this  a  sham  or 
the  fact,  and  he  kept  quiet. 

Again  and  again,  the  outlaw  cursed  and  called.  His  voice 
grew  weaker.  lie  swore  he  was  dying.  He  said: 

"  I  know  it — my  time's  come,  and  I'll  tell  you  that  fellow 
you're  after's  here,  but  I'll  be  damned  if  you'll  find  him. 
If  you'd  let  me  alone  a  little  while,  I'd  fixed  him." 

"  Damned  you'll  be,  then,  Billy  Mervin,  for  I  will  find 
him,"  cried  Tickell,  assured  that  Mervin  could  do  him  no 
harm. 

"  Holy  Mother !  you  traitor  dog,"  groaned  Mervin. 


304        The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

"  Take  it  easy,"  Billy,  responded  Tickell,  "  the  game 
is  up." 

Mervin  answered  with  curses,  and  Tickell  groped  his  way 
toward  the  spot,  whence  the  curses  proceeded.  Accident 
ally  his  foot  struck  some  light  object.  He  picked  it  up,  and 
to  his  joy  discovered  that  it  was  Mervin's  lantern.  Tickell 
was  a  smoker,  and  had  with  him  the  means  of  striking  a 
light.  In  a  moment  he  was  enabled  to  examine  the  extent 
of  Mervin's  injury.  He  was  not  so  badly  hurt  that  Tickell 
dared  trust  him,  and  he  tied  his  arms  with  his  handkerchief, 
and  then  promised  he  would  help  him  to  escape  if  he  would 
tell  him  where  to  find  Etherege. 

The  stone  Tickell  hurled  struck  Mervin  on  the  breast. 
He  was  not  hurt  as  badly  as  he  feared.  Tickell  had  no 
doubt  he  would  recover,  and  told  him  so. 

Mervin  cursed  and  threatened  for  some  time,  but  when 
he  became  satisfied  that  he  was  securely  in  Tickell's  power, 
and  that  there  was  hope  of  his  recovery  if  he  could  be 
taken  care  of,  he  consented  to  give  Tickell  directions  which 
led  him  to  the  dungeon  where  Etherege  pined. 

Tickell  at  once  assured  himself  that  Mervin  did  not 
deceive,  and  when  daylight  came,  he  went  to  the  nearest 
farm-house,  procured  a  horse  and  wagon,  and  conveyed  the 
outlaw  to  his  own  house  in  the  village.  He  left  there  the 
note  which  was  handed  to  Brome  in  the  school-house,  after 
the  examination  had  opened,  then,  in  hot  haste,  returned  to 
the  cave,  and  rescued  the  prisoner. 

While  the  people  of  Cuyahoga  village  were  gossiping 
about  the  remarkable  operations  of  the  counterfeiters,  and 
the  circumstances  of  the  acquittal  of  Brome,  Tickell  ar 
ranged  for  the  pursuit  of  Colonel  Leyton,  who,  early  on  the 


The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga.      305 

morning  of  the  examination,  had  disappeared.  The  hand 
some,  accomplished  Colonel,  he  who,  while  scheming  to 
defraud  on  a  large  scale,  had  been  a  favored  guest  of  the 
proudest  citizens  of  not  only  Cuyahoga  village,  but  of  larger 
towns  in  Ohio,  was  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison.  Sub 
sequently,  upon  the  testimony  of  Tickell  and  Anstey,  he  and 
Grocer  Sandys  were  sent  in  company  to  the  penitentiary. 

Meantime  Constable  Sedley  was  ordered  to  New  Orleans  to 
check  the  scheme  for  defrauding  people  of  foreign  lands, 
which  Anstey  had  divulged.  It  was  discovered  that  a  ship 
had  been  purchased  and  was  partly  laden  with  stores.  Sev 
eral  of  the  "  stockholders"  were  arrested ;  others  escaped 
and  became  restless  wanderers,  fleeing  from  justice — fearing 
recognition — shunning  observation. 

When  the  excitement  attending  his  rescue  and  its  results 
had  passed  away,  Joseph  Etherege  fell  violently  sick.  For 
several  weeks  his  life  was  in  imminent  danger,  but  after  a 
favorable  crisis,  he  recovered  rapidly.  During  his  illness  a 
"  ministering  angel"  often  brought  sunshine  to  his  bedside, 
sunshine  that  warmed  his  heart.  When  his  health  returned 
he  begged  the  company,  the  consolation,  the  sympathy  of 
that  "  angel"  through  health  as  well  as  sickness,  so  long  as 
both  should  live. 


It  was  Christmas  eve.  A  gay  company  had  assembled  at 
Brome  Cottage.  There  were  two  brides  and  two  grooms 
in  that  company.  The  drifting  snow  and  the  whistling  winds 
were  unheeded.  The  houseless,  the  homeless,  on  that  stormy 
night  were  forgotten  by  the  merry  revelers,  who  were  rejoic 
ing  in  the  happiness  present  and  in  prospect. 

20 


306       The  Counterfeiters  of  the  Cuyahoga. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  wild  alarm.  A  startling  cry  rang 
on  the  night  air.  It  was  "  FIRE  !  FIRE  ! !  " 

A  portion  of  Brome  Cottage  was  in  flames.  The  wedding 
guests  were  driven  into  the  night-storm.  Brides  and  grooms, 
male  and  female  guests,  were  soon  engaged  with  hot  and 
nervous  energy  in  efforts  to  subdue  the  flames.  Water 
enough  could  not  be  procured.  The  wind  was  high.  Be 
fore  citizens  of  the  village  could  reach  the  scene  of  painful 
disaster,  the  handsome  cottage  was  wrapped  in  flames.  Only 
a  small  portion  of  its  valuable  furniture  was  snatched  from 
the  fire. 

"  An  incendiary  did  this,"  every  body  said.  The  morning 
after  the  fire,  a  man  was  found  near  the  cottage — frozen  to 
death.  He  was  recognized  as  Billy  Mervin.  In  his  death 
grasp,  he  had  an  expired  torch. 

He  had  avenged,  in  his  wicked  way,  the  death  of  Darwin. 

Tickell  had  kept  him  at  his  house  several  weeks,  and 
would  have  kept  him  longer,  but  one  night,  though  weak  and 
penniless,  he  secretly  crept  away. 

The  people  of  the  village  never  saw  him,  but  Barton  the 
landlord  knew  he  was  not  far  distant,  and  Barton  also  knew 
that,  on  Christmas  eve,  he  was  very  drunk,  and  had  made 
mysterious  threats. 

"  The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard." 

Anstey  was  obliged  to  move  west.  Tickell  chose  to  emi 
grate  westward  also,  and  so  did  Barton,  whose  tavern  had 
become  a  place  of  bad  repute. 

Brome  Cottage  was  not  rebuilt,  but  Harry  Brome  and 
Edith  his  wife,  and  Mrs.  Brome  his  mother,  had  a  happy 
home  in  the  village,  and  there  was  another  happy  home 
there,  and  Mr.  Joseph  Etherege  and  Mrs.  Alice  Etherege 
were  its  master  and  its  mistress. 


THE 

Bright  Eye  of  the  Settlement. 


THE  BRIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  SETTLEMENT. 


"WHEN?" 

"  At  seven  o'clock,  on  Thursday  morning.  We  start  at 
eight." 

"  All  right.     You  can  depend  on  me." 

These  words  were  exchanged  by  two  young  men  in  the 
shaded  streets  of  a  quiet  New  England  village. 

They  had  been  schoolmates,  and  were  intimate  friends. 
One  was  about  to  take  leave  of  the  associations  of  his  youth, 
and  of  his  early  manhood — the  other  had  been  invited  to 
witness  a  ceremony  which  would  unite  to  his  friend,  through 
sickness  and  health,  through  prosperity  and  adversity,  one 
who  had  been  to  both  of  them  a  playmate  in  youth,  but  who 
had  been  more  than  a  playmate  to  the  elder  in  manhood. 
For  a  few  days  there  had  been  wide-spread  excitement  in 
the  little  town.  A  colony  for  emigration  had  been  organized. 
The  bride  and  groom  of  Thursday  morning  were  to  join  tho 
band  of  emigrants.  They  would  be  the  youngest  married 
people  in  it. 

(30D) 


310        The  Bright  Eye  of  the  Settlement. 

The  morn  was  propitious.     There  was  a  joyful  wedding — 
then  there  were  prayerful  good  wishes,  and  sad  partings. 


The  honeymoon  had  passed,  and  autumn  succeeded  sum 
mer  ;  when,  in  the  midst  of  a  prairie,  whose  regular  undula 
tions  reminded  the  settlers  of  the  ocean,  from  whose  shores 
they  had  come,  nearly  a  score  of  pleasant  cottages  surrounded 
a  small,  white  church,  and  a  white  school-house. 

Remote  from  other  settlements,  rarely  having  society 
other  than  that  which  they  found  among  themselves,  being 
congenial  in  tastes  and  opinions,  the  New  England  settlers 
were  more  cordial — much  more  closely  interested  in  each 
other's  prosperity  or  adversity  than  they  had  been  in  the 
village  from  which  they  emigrated. 

From  gardens  around  their  dwellings  they  had  gathered 
one  rich  crop ;  and  a  second  time  flowers  had  bloomed  for 
them  in  the  apparently  boundless  field,  which  stretched  away 
in  beautiful  lines  toward  the  distant  horizon — when  the  cen 
sus  of  their  colony  numbered  one  more  than  it  did  on  the 
morning  their  white  church  was  dedicated.  There  had  not 
been  a  death — and  the  youngest  bride  was  a  mother. 

The  little  immigrant  was  what  all  the  maids  and  all  the 
matrons  called  a  sweet  babe.  He  was  a  large,  fair  child, 
with  light,  curling  hair,  and  expressive  countenance,  and 
clear,  blue  eyes. 

When  he  grew  large  enough  to  run  out  of  doors,  and  the 
men  met  him,  as  they  went  to  or  came  from  their  labors,  they 
called  him  Bright  Eyes.  The  women  often  talked  of  him  as 


The  Bright  Eye  of  the  Settlement.         311 

a  promising  child,  and  all  were  proud  of  him  as  the  first-born 
of  the  settlement. 

Remarkable  for  beauty,  intelligence,  and  goodness,  when 
he  was  two  years  old  the  settlers  were,  toward  him,  as  one 
family.  The  women  were  hard  workers  ;  the  men  had  rough 
hands  and  bronzed  faces,  but  they  had  tender  hearts.  Fre 
quently,  pains  were  taken  to  save  nice  presents  of  cake  or 
pie  for  Bright  Eyes,  and  sometimes  a  settler  took  many  steps 
out  of  his  way  to  carry  him  a  flower,  or  a  handful  of  berries. 

Recognizing  a  bond  of  union  in  love  for  a  little  child,  the 
colonists  were  happier  than  men  often  are  where  honors  and 
riches  command  the  choicest  and  rarest  of  the  peculiar  priv 
ileges  of  refined  society. 

Whether  over  all  the  prairie  the  fresh  beauty  of  spring, 
the  maturing  glory  of  summer,  or  the  pensive  loveliness  of 
autumn  attracted  attention — whether  deep  snow  reflected  the 
winter  sun,  or  cutting  wind  swept  dark  clouds  over  the  set 
tlement,  the  colonists  had  time  for,  and  took  pleasure  in,  cheer 
ful,  social  gatherings,  singing-schools,  and  prayer-meetings. 

Often,  old  and  young  meeting  together,  social  visiting, 
singing  lessons,  and  concert  of  prayer  blended  their  attrac 
tions,  their  enjoyments,  and  their  consolations. 

On  a  dark  night,  in  the  last  winter  month,  at  one  of  those 
reunions,  a  few  words,  whispered  from  ear  to  ear,  sad- 
ened  every  heart,  and  put  a  new  fervor  into  the  closing* 
prayer. 

Bright  Eyes,  the  child  around  which  the  pride  and  affec 
tion  of  the  settlement  clustered,  had  been  suddenly  taken  ill. 

In  childish  enterprise  and  glee  he  clambered  afcer  some 
pictures  on  a  book-shelf,  and  had  fallen.  lie  did  not,  at 
first,  appear  to  be  much  hurt,  and  his  father  joined  the  win- 


312        The  Bright  Eye  of  the  Settlement. 

ter-evening  party.  But  before  the  hour  at  which  the  settlers 
were  expected  to  seek  their  homes,  a  violent  fever  disturbed 
his  brain,  and  filled  his  mother's  heart  with  grievous  appre 
hensions. 

Though  the  succeeding  morning  was  severely  cold,  and  a 
fierce  wind  filled  the  air  with  drifting  snow,  scarcely  had  the 
day  broken,  ere  the  sad  news  was  known  at  every  fireside, 
that  the  hope  of  the  settlement  was  dangerously  ill  with  fever 
— in  a  brain  unusually  developed.  There,  around  a  neat  cot 
tage,  near  the  church,  centered  the  entire  interest  of  all  the 
settlers.  Little  Bright  Eyes  knew  no  rest.  Soon  he  did  not 
know  his  father  or  his  mother.  Violent  spasms  seized  him, 
and  irregular  moans  expressed  a  most  painful  struggle  be 
tween  firm  disease  and  a  strong  frame. 

At  length,  while  his  father  held  him  in  his  arms,  and  his 
mother  kneeled  by  his  side,  watching  for  a  last  look  of  rec 
ognition,  he  sank  into  a  deep  stupor,  from  which  death  took 
him  peacefully. 

It  was  Sabbath  morning.  Little  children  in  their  classes 
at  Sunday-school  were  told  that  Bright  Eyes  had  gone  to 
heaven. 

In  the  white  church,  that  day,  a  sermon  from  this  text, 
"  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not," 
moved  the  sternest  men,  as  well  as  the  tenderest  women. 
The  head  of  the  household  from  which  Bright  Eyes  had  been 
taken  was  the  preacher. 

Every  settler  felt  then  that  affliction  hath  bonds  of  union 
closer  than  the  ripest  pleasure  can  furnish.  To  each  other 
they  renewed  those  vows,  the  keeping  of  which  would  enable 
their  beloved  pastor  to  lead  them  the  way  Bright  Eyes  had 
gone. 


The  Bright  Eye  of  the  Settlement.        313 

On  the  following  evening,  when  the  first-born  of  the  prai 
rie  was  laid  in  his  little  grave,  every  man,  woman  and  child 
able  to  brave  piercing  cold,  heard  the  clods  fall  on  his  coffin. 
Their  hearts  bled  in  sympathy.  The  pastor  knew  that  the 
shadow  which  had  fallen  over  his  threshold,  crossed  also  every 
threshold  in  the  settlement. 

At  his  saddened  home  he  took  leave  of  his  people  in  only 
these  words  :  "  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken 
away.  The  Lord  chasteneth  whom  he  loveth.  Blessed  be 
the  name  of  the  Lord." 


Whoever  visits  now  the  village  of ,  in  

county,  Iowa,  may  witness  mutual  respect  and  forbearance 
among  all  the  people,  from  children  in  the  street  to  men  at 
their  business,  and  women  in  their  homes,  which  will  puzzle 
his  understanding  as  much  as  it  will  challenge  his  admiration 
unless,  spending  a  Sabbath  there,  he  hears  the  village  pastor 
preach  the  Gospel,  and,  affected  by  his  pensive  countenance, 
learns  the  story,  I  have  poorly  told,  of  The  Bright  Eye  of 
the  Settlement. 

The  features  of  this  story,  as  true  to  real  occurrence  as 
my  pen  can  make  them,  furnish  a  striking  contrast  to  the  fea 
tures  of  a  story,  which  faithfully  depicts  pioneer  life,  as  it 
was  in  the  west  fifty  years  ago. 


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